Silent Hill: Lost Souls 2
by Mike N
Summary: Hoping to uncover Walter's motives, Michael and Trey investigate the seemingly deserted Wish House orphanage after their confrontation with Dahlia Gillespie. Meanwhile, Henry and Eileen are welcomed into Silent Hill and discover Walter's ultimate intent.
1. Lurking Evil

I.

The 2002 Maxima sped down the highway as the surrounding landscape gradually changed from a mountainous scene to the outskirts of a bustling suburb. They had only been on the road an hour, but already they penetrated the outskirts of South Ashfield. Despite the brilliant sunlight that accompanied them throughout most of the trip, the mood of the passengers of the car was far from bright.

Michael McNeal kept his eyes glued to the road, secretly thankful for the silence that had settled since they left the college parking lot. The quiet gave him time to formulate exactly what they were going to do when they got to South Ashfield Heights. He bounced back and forth between a pessimistic and optimistic conclusion to their endeavor.

Optimistic. They would arrive at the apartment complex, greeted at the door by Henry Townsend. He would take them upstairs to his apartment where Christine Mitchell sat on the couch, cheerfully sipping on tea. The apartment was gloriously furnished and perfect, nothing like the nightmarish world of Silent Hill. The reunion would be grand and everyone would live happily ever after.

Pessimistic. They would arrive at the apartment complex, which would be mysteriously empty, dilapidated, and downright creepy. Somehow, the doors lock and imprison them once again in the horrid nightmare began in Silent Hill. More monsters, less ammo, and no reprieve from the macabre surroundings. Then they die. The end.

Michael turned the air conditioner up a notch, wishing that he hadn't worn his three-quarters length wool coat. Sure he looked cool, and it offered more pocket space, but it was a bit warm outside for such an outer garment. Maybe it was the long-sleeve, button down white shirt he wore underneath. Of course it was too warm for both the shirt and the coat. He should've worn shorts and sandals instead of jeans and durable boots. Then again, if they encountered any of the circumstances they had the last time, Michael was confident that his current clothing choice was practical and sensible.

He stole a glance at Heather Mason. She was dressed for action, wearing dark jeans and a matching jacket, which only fell to just below her bust line, and underneath the jacket, she wore a tan t-shirt and sported her boots. Trey Harrison wore some cargo khakis with a maroon t-shirt over a white long-sleeve t-shirt and hiking boots completed the ensemble. Michael thought they looked more like well-dressed college students on their way to either a rowdy party or a coffee shop.

Heather ran her fingers though her tussled, unstructured hair but kept her gazed fixed at the passing buildings on the passenger side of the car. Michael couldn't imagine how she felt venturing back into the lion's den. She barely escaped the horrors of Silent Hill. Twice. Now, she elected to join them to save both Henry and Christine, who weren't as fortunate as them. They remained trapped in whatever evil Silent Hill managed to spawn.

And they were the only ones that could save them and stop the evil, or at least, that's what they kept telling themselves.

Trey nudged Michael's shoulder, pulling him from his thoughts. "Hey, can we stop at a bathroom?"

Michael nodded and made a quick right turn. He pulled into a gas station and parked on the side of the building. Despite the modern architecture of some of the surrounding buildings, the red brick building with sloping overhangs reminded him of something from the sixties. He wondered if there would be a potbellied clerk rocking to the oldies behind the counter.

Michael turned to Heather and Trey. "I'm going inside, do you guys need anything?"

Heather shook her head, still mysteriously silent. Michael thought about telling her to get some fresh air and to shake it off, but he knew that she wouldn't listen. She seemed determined to go with them when she surprised them in the parking lot, but she had suddenly settled into a quiet depression.

Actually, now that he thought about it, his own mood wasn't as lively as before. A morbid foreboding has settled over him and had only gotten worse since they were nearing the apartment complex. Maybe it was his imagination, but after seeing the same thing in Heather's and Trey's eyes, he wondered if they were being effected by whatever power had manifested itself in South Ashfield.

Michael turned to Trey, but he had already hopped out the car and dashed around the corner to the bathroom.

"I'll be right back, okay?" he said to Heather. He hoped to elicit some kind of response from her. The entire trip she had simply stared out of the window as if she was searching for something.

"Okay," she replied as if catching what he was trying to do.

Heather heard the door slam and heard the tinkle of chimes as Michael entered the gas station then everything was silent again. She sighed deeply and let her gaze fix upon everything and nothing at the same time.

Though everything in the environment registered in her mind, Heather's focus was on what she couldn't directly see but what she felt. As they neared South Ashfield, the pulse of malevolent energy only grew stronger. She wondered if Michael could feel it, but she figured the connection to Silent Hill he displayed before had been severed. So she was the only one who could sense the strength of the evil they would face.

There was something different about this than before though. Heather couldn't put her finger on it, but this energy was tainted—completely wrong. It was as if someone or something were toying with something that they didn't have a full understanding of. They were dancing on the outskirts of casting the world into oblivion, yet because of their own inexperience or immaturity, they were doing something horribly wrong.

She figured that this time, they were probably dealing with a simple-minded freak of The Order, who somehow found out about the dispelled plans of Father Tom and sought to bring back his version of Samael. When would it ever stop? When the world was cast into some dark, hellish existence? When everyone experienced nothing but suffering and pain, everything good erased permanently from existence? The thought depressed and angered Heather.

She knew that Michael was concerned, feeling his caring glance and hearing the worry punctuating his questions. But she just couldn't draw herself from her own anxiety. So she simply stared out the window, hoping it would all simply pass.

Heather sighed and glanced about the car. She hadn't voiced it, but was impressed with the cleanliness of the inside of the car. Most college kids had wrappers, papers, and trash scattered everywhere with no intention of cleaning it up. She took the neatness as a reflection of Michael's personality. He seemed organized and the type to have it together. But Trey, now he would definitely have a messy car. She smiled slightly as she imagined having to kick aside pizza boxes and other totally ludicrous wads of debris all over the seats and floor just to find a spot to sit.

She glanced in the mirror and caught sight of a drawn, pallid face staring at her. His dark eyes met hers through the mirror, and Heather felt a chill go down her spine. She averted her eyes immediately, not wanting to draw his attention by staring back at him. It was enough that they were going to battle some otherworldly force that had imprisoned their friends. She didn't need a perverted psycho chasing after her as well.

Heather tried to concentrate on the gas station, wondering what was taking Trey and Michael so long. She could have simply gotten out of the car and went inside as well, totally diffusing the situation, but surely the creep had lost interest.

She chanced a glance at the rearview mirror and froze as the man now appeared to be in the backseat. His longing gray eyes stared back at her with an unhealthy interest, while his mouth curled into a sneer. His stringy blond hair framed his narrow face, which somehow gave him an even more menacing quality. But the thing that caught Heather's attention was the curved blade pressed against his tongue. His rolled it over the tip while he stared at Heather.

Before she could react, he lunged forward.

She gasped and began to immediately put up a fight, though she anticipated the cold blade plunging into the back of her neck. But as she turned around to face her opponent for one last time, there was no one in the backseat. No strange man, blade in hand, waiting to slice her to ribbons. No pervert leering outside the back window, imagining her naked and bloody. There was absolutely no sign of the man she saw.

There was no way Heather could have imagined him. His rancid breath and musty odor still lingered in the car. And his eyes—there was no mistaking it. Heather did not imagine that man. But where was he now?

II.

Trey's bladder was on the verge of bursting open, spilling urine all through his insides before erupting out of his stomach in a rush of warm, amber waves. At least, that's what Trey presumed what would've happened if he had waited five more minutes.

Rushing to the farthest urinal from the door, Trey relieved himself, exhaling loudly. While the trickle of liquid echoed in the bathroom, Trey took a glance around. The bathroom was much bigger than Trey presumed. Gas stations were known for their creepy, dirty bathrooms with one toilet and graffiti all over the walls and door. This bathroom was large, almost as big as the store section of the gas station with a long line of urinals across from the sinks. Trey saw that the bathroom had another section, probably where the stalls were located. The bathroom itself wasn't that dirty, but it did have a thin layer of grime and erosion, which made Trey feel a little uneasy. It reminded him of the bathrooms in Silent Hill.

He shook three times (anymore and it was considered a faux pas) and zipped up. He flushed and the water churned lazily around in the urinal but really didn't wash away all of the waste. Trey shook his head, turned to the sink, and stuck his hands into the moderately hot water. Trey rubbed his hands together as a healthy lather bubbled up; he then rinsed it all down the drain and turned off the faucet.

But as soon as the water stopped, another out-of-place noise resounded through the bathroom. Trey thought it sounded like a sob, but it as quickly as he had heard it, it was gone. There were no other noises in the bathroom, nothing to indicate that someone else was there. Yet, he was sure that he heard someone crying. Trey stood still for a moment as he honed in on every little noise in the bathroom. Another sob escaped from around the corner, putting Trey into a state of alarm.

Was someone hurt? Was it a lost child? Had someone gotten stuck in the stall?

Trey shook the water off his hands and started carefully around the bend. The thought crossed his mind that he should just go back out to the car and get Michael and Heather. But Trey didn't want them to think he was being jumpy already. The evil was at the apartment complex and in Silent Hill. There was no way something awful had taken up residence in this gas station bathroom.

The stalls came into view and instantly, Trey knew there was something amiss. There were several stalls—Trey counted twenty-one—lined up on the right side of the wall. Small, mildew-covered windows let in only small rays of sunlight, casting this side of the bathroom in a dusky hue. But Trey was absolutely sure that the gas station wasn't this large from the outside. No gas station in America would ever have a bathroom this large.

Before he could think twice about investigating, a hard wail came from the last stall. The door to that stall was ajar, while the rest were closed.

_A typical horror movie moment,_ Trey thought. This was the part where he was supposed to call out foolishly to whatever hid in the darkness. Well, Trey wasn't playing that game. He slipped carefully down the length of the bathroom until he neared the stall. He then cautiously leaned forward to peek into the stall, hopefully catching the resident wailer unaware.

Trey barely got a glimpse of a small boy before the stall door abruptly slammed shut. He jumped back in surprise and felt his mouth go dry.

"Hey, I'm not going to hurt you," Trey softly offered. He didn't hear anything else from the stall. The boy was probably holding his breath. What a brat.

He moved closer to the stall and rapped on it, hoping to elicit some kind of response.

"Come on, open the door. We'll find your parents, okay?" Trey said. He assumed that the kid had been separated from his parents and somehow found solace in this creepy bathroom. Surely, his parents were worried sick about him. Or maybe he was being a brat and his parents pretended to leave him to teach him a lesson. They probably were somewhere in the parking lot waiting for the little boy to stagger out of the bathroom crying and calling for his parents. Parents could be awfully cruel.

Trey smiled when the child knocked back on the door. Maybe he wasn't such a brat after all.

He knocked again and the boy responded much more quickly this time.

Trey knocked again, beginning to enjoy the back and forth game between the two of them. He remembered when he was a small child and the small games he and his mother used to play. Though thinking back, peek-a-boo was trite and making funny faces was just plain silly. Still, those small things were pleasant and surely the small boy felt some kind of connection through the small game.

Trey rescinded his original opinion of the boy. Well, he could still be a brat, but right now, the small boy seemed a little more innocent and vulnerable than he initially presumed. It was possible that the boy was a good kid, a rarity in this day and age. Most kids had attitude and would sass adults just as quickly as their own peers. But maybe this kid wasn't like that.

Trey knocked again.

Something pounded on the door from the other side, throwing Trey against the tiled wall. His shoulder hit the wall hard. Trey lost his balance and slid to the floor. Panicked, he scrambled to his feet. There was no way that small boy could have hit the inside of the stall door that hard. Trey suddenly felt like there was something horribly wrong.

As he rose to his feet, Trey heard a gasp come from the stall, followed by sickening crunches and wet smacks.

Without thinking, Trey rushed to the stall and banged on it. "Open this door!"

His statement wasn't necessarily directed at the boy, but to whoever or whatever that had suddenly made its presence known.

Trey looked down at his feet and saw a pool of blood seeping out of the stall. Trey took a step back, struck with the fear that whatever they had thought they left behind in Silent Hill had followed them. And now, it was here in this bathroom.

The stall lock popped and the door opened slightly. Everything told Trey to run and get the others. He didn't have his crossbow or anything else to use as a weapon. Well, he had his fists, but something told Trey that his physical power would be nothing against whatever was in the stall. Still, his curiosity overwhelmed his since of logic, and Trey stepped forward cautiously.

At the slightest provocation, Trey was ready to bolt out of the bathroom, hoping the rays of afternoon sunlight would dispel and disintegrate whatever creature would be hot on his heels. But he wasn't content to simply leave without knowing what happened in that stall. Or to that small boy.

As Trey drew closer, he could feel his body tense and his palms begin to sweat. Fear began to creep through his spine and infest his limbs, putting him on edge. A drop of sweat trickled down the side of his face as he pushed open the stall door.

Despite the blood on the floor, the stall was unbelievably clean. Trey felt dizzy for a moment, faced with a strong sense of wrongness. Not that he wanted entrails to be scattered all over the place, but he didn't expect this. Where was the boy? What was in the stall only moments ago? Where had the blood come from?

The bathroom was silent once again, and Trey was alone.

A bubble rose to the top of the toilet water. It shouldn't have been so alarming, but Trey's blood immediately began racing again as more bubbles erupted from the depths of the toilet. Then they became pockets of blood. The water churned and rippled like a small storm had suddenly developed within the toilet.

Trey had only backed away a step before a bloody hand shot out of the toilet and steadied on the seat. The other arm followed suit, but braced against the opposite side. Simultaneously, they gave a foundation for a grotesque figure to emerge from the toilet.

Drenched in blood, lacking of skin or any real defining features, it jerked its way from the depths of the toilet. None of its movements were fluid. It trembled and convulsed as it pulled its body halfway out of the toilet. A misplaced, gaping hole smacked then opened as a little boy's scream exploded out of it.

Finally, Trey's body reacted with his mind, and he dashed out of the bathroom, the scream following him all the way back to the car.

III.

The interior of the gas station was disappointing. It looked like any other gas station populated with rows of snacks, counters of unhealthy fast food, and an Icee machine in the corner. To the right of the entrance were two small booths next to a coffee machine. But the most disappointing thing was the strange clerk behind the counter, peering unkindly at Michael. As silly as it may have been, he really was expecting a potbellied, balding fellow that would greet him kindly as he walked into the store.

Michael nodded kindly at the clerk, but his expression didn't change. Maybe the clerk knew that Michael was a college student and automatically lumped him with the hundreds of other drunken troublemakers that stumbled down to South Ashfield for a good time. The clerk must have had a bad incident with college kids and decided to hate every single one thereafter.

He shrugged off the rudeness of the clerk and headed to the back where the refrigerators were located. They lined the entire back wall and circled around on both walls. Michael immediately noticed that there were twenty-one refrigerators. It was strange that there would be so many refrigerators in such a small gas station. But he found it more peculiar that he had counted each one before he realized it. Michael realized that there was some significance to it, but he brushed it off attributing his keen alertness to fatigue tainted with paranoia.

Despite the odd number of refrigerators, they all housed a variety of typical cold drinks that were most popular on the streets. Even the not-so-popular drinks had a section in the refrigerators. Though he was impressed, Michael simply wanted a bottle of water.

He scanned the shelves until he found an icy bottle of water but frowned. The bottle was water was in the last refrigerator and the only one left. But that wasn't the problem. It was all the way in the back of the refrigerator.

_Maybe the clerk should take more time to stock the shelves than staring at me,_ Michael sourly thought. But he pushed the thought out of his mind. The clerk may have had some sort of personal problem that he was dealing with, and Michael just so happened to be his scapegoat.

Michael shook his head. He was always making excuses for other people. He did his best to give people the benefit of the doubt, but sometimes people made it hard.

The glass door opened easily and Michael reached into the refrigerator. He reached and felt his fingertips graze the icy plastic bottle, but he couldn't quite grasp it. It never registered that the refrigerator wasn't supposed to be so deep. And he never thought twice about the bottle of water being the only thing in the refrigerator. So when he couldn't reach it, he dismissed it as bad luck and continued to reach. This time, he got his body into it.

He leaned fully into the refrigerator and stretched fully toward the water. About to give up, Michael silently rejoiced as the cool plastic grazed his fingertips. Only a little bit more and the water would be his. Damn, it was hard work just for a bottle of water.

As Michael reached he found that the inside of the refrigerator was suddenly much cooler. His hand felt like it was wrapped in icicles. He glanced toward his hand and noticed a pale hand wrapped around his own. Michael gasped and pulled back, but the vise-like grip held him fast. Then it began to pull him in.

Michael thrashed around for a moment, hoping that the rude clerk saw what was happening and was running down the aisle to help. Hopefully with a bat in hand. Yet, Michael felt no other help. No clerk tugging on Michael's coat, desperately trying to pull him out. No one shouting from outside the refrigerator for help. Nothing. It was as if the clerk didn't see him. Or maybe he just didn't care.

Regardless, Michael let the grip pull him in a few inches before he was able to get his other arm braced against the frame of the refrigerator. He then found a way to maneuver his legs, giving him more leverage than before. With a grunt, Michael pulled against the hand, desperate for warm air and freedom.

"Help!" Michael didn't recognize his own strangled voice. There was no way the clerk would ever hear him.

Michael tugged again, afraid that his hand would break off from his body and join the other bodiless hand in the darkness, waiting for another thirsty victim to add more hands to their army. Disgusted by the thought, Michael grunted again and yanked against the hand.

As Michael peered past the ghostly hand, a visage melted out of the darkness. The face, as pale as the hand that now gripped Michael's wrist, glared at Michael for a moment. Then a smile crept across his face.

Michael gave one last tug and the hand let him go. He flew back into a shelf of snacks, lost his balance, and hit the floor. Scrambling, Michael got to his feet, not taking his eyes off the refrigerator for a moment. His hand still felt frigid and he could still feel the impression of the hand wrapped around his wrist. But when he looked at his hand, he discovered why his hand was cold. He had grabbed the icy water.

He looked back at the refrigerator and it seemed normal. There were other drinks on the shelves and the waters were fully stocked all the way to the front. There was no possible way that Michael would have been able to fit his athletic body into the refrigerator, let alone become entangled with some ghostly image.

But Michael knew he hadn't imagined it. Someone had attacked him.

He looked at the water again, which was a normal bottle of cold water. He glanced at the refrigerator again, suddenly unsure of what had happened. His mind was already developing several logical explanations for the incident.

Fatigue. He hadn't slept well and maybe it had finally caught up to him in the form of a hallucination. Which is why the clerk didn't help him—Michael's mind had created the entire incident. Or maybe, Michael had fallen asleep while looking at the drinks. Surely, people could fall asleep standing up, if they were tired enough. He fell asleep then dreamed the situation. Maybe it was a hunger or thirst induced vision. Michael hadn't eaten and he was plenty thirsty.

Michael pushed all that aside. He knew exactly what had happened. Whatever or whoever that had done something to Henry Townsend knew that they were there to help him. And though it could have easily killed Michael, it was toying with him, begging him to come. Though it felt like he was walking right into the lion's den, Michael resolved that he would find out who or what was behind all this. And when he did, there would be hell to pay.

He clenched his jaw and quickly paid for the water and stepped back into the cool afternoon air. Only then did he realize that something was wrong. He and Heather's eyes met and Michael knew that something had happened. Before he got all the way to the car, Trey dashed from around the corner and stopped at the car, gasping for breath.

When Trey finally looked up at Michael, they both knew that they had seen something that didn't make any sense. Something that could only be spawned from the bowels of Silent Hill. And it was only a matter of time before they found themselves once again at the mercy of an otherworldly evil.

Notes:

This story takes place directly after the events of Silent Hill: Lost Souls and Silent Hill 3: Harry Mason.


	2. South Ashfield Heights

I.

Silence.

The car ebbed with a profound silence. It wasn't the uncomfortable, foreboding silence of earlier. Now, the realism of facing the horrors of Silent Hill once again and the uncertainty of what exactly they were facing stifled any hint of conversation that may have blossomed before.

Michael McNeal's brown eyes were locked on the road once again, searching for the right street to enter. He rubbed his wrist unconsciously, but then noticed and put his hand back on the wheel. He could still feel the frigid fingers locked around his wrist, the cold seeping through skin and muscle right to the bone.

He chanced a glance at Heather. She ran her fingers through her hair again, but continued to stare out of the window. Something had obviously happened to her too, yet she revealed nothing to Michael or Trey.

Trey sat on the edge of the back seat. His crossbow with impossibly infinite ammo lay on the seat next to him. He was angrier than any of them, especially since he had convinced them to investigate the bathroom, only to find that there was nothing there. He stormed out of the bathroom, commanded Michael to open the trunk, and immediately armed himself, determined not to be surprised again. Michael revealed what happened to him inside of the gas station while arming himself with his 9mm. Heather did the same, though she was not forthcoming with her confrontation with the strange man.

Though she said nothing, Michael knew that something had happened. And it irritated him that despite what they had been through, Heather was still trying to play tough. He didn't need someone that was going to play tough. He wanted someone that would be strong and reliable. And someone that would tell him when something was wrong.

His frown intensified thinking about Heather's reaction. Instead of voicing his feelings, he turned the car to the left, drove for a few more blocks, and finally made a right turn into the parking lot of a three-story building.

"We're here," Michael quietly said, putting the car in park and taking the key out of the ignition. Though the car was already warming up from the lack of air conditioning, none of them made a move. Doubts and fear robbed them of their will to venture anywhere outside of the car. But they had made a promise. They would help Henry and find Christine. And at least for Michael, that's what he intended to do.

He took a deep breath and reached for the car door.

"Wait," Heather abruptly said, gently grabbing on Michael's arm. He looked at her hand then let his eyes find her face. They sat for a moment just looking at one another. Then she said, "There was a weirdo at the gas station. He was outside the car then suddenly he was in the back seat. Before I could do anything, he lunged forward with a knife. But then, just like that, he was gone."

"You saw him too," Michael said more to himself than in reply. He was convinced that he and Heather had both seen the same man. Though she didn't describe him at all and though their encounters were totally different, somehow, Michael was absolutely sure that the same man was responsible for accosting all three of them. "That man, he's got to have something to do with Henry. He knew that we were coming."

Heather added, "And he didn't try to stop us. Michael, we're walking right into his game. I didn't say anything before, but something feels different about this. It's like Silent Hill, but tainted, if that's even possible. I don't like this."

Michael didn't want to openly admit it, but he could feel it to. He thought that it was just nerves, but since his previous exposure to White Claudia at the hands of cult members and his harsh introduction to Silent Hill, Michael hadn't been the same. And now, like a looming darkness, he could feel the evil pulsating from somewhere in the apartment building before them.

"We're here for Henry and Christine," Trey grabbed his crossbow and opened the car door. "And that's reason enough for me to face Hell all over again." Without a pause, Trey climbed out of the car and started toward the apartment building.

Michael met Heather's gaze. "I'm not sure about this either, but I'm sure that I want to stop this once and for all. And we need you too. You're the only one that has the power to destroy whatever Silent Hill has become. I want to count on you."

Heather opened her mouth to speak but stopped. She had made such a deal her entire life of being tough and independent that she never learned to appreciate other people. Not until she found herself forced to team with Michael, Christine, and Trey. In that single experience, Heather learned the value of friends. And she learned the heartache of losing friends.

She hadn't told anyone, but Christine's sacrifice had hit her. Hard.

Heather blamed herself, not only for Christine's suicidal stunt but also for Henry's disappearance. Her weakness had caused all of this. Then her inability to eradicate the evil let it grow and fester. Everything was her fault—at least, that's how she felt now. But she couldn't tell Michael or Trey that. Now was the time to be strong. It was time to be that tough girl they first met. The sassy one that didn't take any crap. The one with a sharp tongue, distancing herself emotionally from anyone. Now wasn't the time for feelings.

But Heather couldn't fully convince herself of that.

She gave a slight nod, setting her face into a reassuring expression. "I'm going to save them too. That's why I came, and I won't leave until we do." Despite her initial misgivings, Heather knew that her words weren't empty. And she wanted Michael and Trey to know that too.

Michael gave her a nod of understanding then they both exited the car and followed Trey into South Ashfield Heights.

II.

Henry Townsend lazily opened his eyes, which took their sweet time focusing. The muddled scene sharpened within a minute or two, giving Henry time to reflect on his ebbing headache.

_What the hell happened?_

He tried to remember exactly how he had gotten to his bedroom, why he was fully dressed, and why he was waking up in the middle of the day. Slowly, the fog of forgetfulness cleared and through spotty, Henry recalled what had happened.

_That's right. I got a note to save Harry. I found him barely alive and rushed him to the hospital. Then I was back here. Then I got another note to save Tina. Somehow, I ended up in a house in Silent Hill. Something had attacked another woman and it would've gotten Tina if I hadn't helped her out. We ran, but then we found out that Silent Hill isn't as forgiving. A small girl chased us for a good portion of my time there. I met other people that were there too. Harry Mason was there and his daughter, Heather, was there too. She had three friends, Michael McNeal, Christine Mitchell, and Trey Harrison. The two policemen, Cybil Bennett and Douglas Cartland helped out too. But then, we faced some huge demon that seemed to be making short work of us. But Christine threw herself at the demon, while Heather and Michael used some strange power to banish it. Then, everything went dark._

Henry rubbed his temples, sure that his brain was going to pulsate right out of his ears. A wave of nausea threatened him, but he swallowed and took a few deep breaths. The pain eased only a fraction, but that was enough for Henry to get up and make his way to his living room.

He stared at the door, laced with an intricate web of chains and a message scrawled in red marker.

_Do not go out. Walter._

Henry knew that the message was for him, which was unnerving in itself. Who was Walter? How did he get into the apartment? And more importantly, how did he get out?

Thus far, nothing had made any sense. The whole fiasco that he was involved in seemed like a distant nightmare that grew vaguer as the seconds ticked by. Henry debated banging on the door again, but he was sure the outcome would be the same. No one would hear him.

He also knew that the television wouldn't work and neither would the radio. The windows were jammed shut and no one seemed to notice him waving frantically at them. His neighbors continued on with their daily lives as if nothing was wrong.

_But everything is wrong,_ Henry sourly thought.

He heard Eileen Galvin, his next door neighbor drop several objects outside his door. She cursed under her breath then, out loud, hoped her luck would change before the party. Then she was gone.

Henry could hear everything from outside—the neighbors roaming the halls, the superintendent's efforts to get into the apartment, and the cars driving by outside. Yet, no matter how he pounded and screamed, no one could hear him. He didn't know what was going on, but his previous experience helped him be prepared for anything.

A wall crumbled, followed by the crash of concrete and dry wall somewhere in the back of the apartment.

_What was that?_

Henry, ignoring the danger alarms going off in his head, ventured down the hallway and opened the door on the right to his bathroom. He quickly found that the crumbling wall had definitely happened in the bathroom. A gaping, dark hole had erupted from nowhere in between the sink and toilet. It looked like some force had exploded into the bathroom, but there was nothing there.

"What the hell?" he mumbled. Henry stepped closer and called, "Somebody in there?" Henry hoped he wouldn't get an answer and after a few seconds of waiting gave a sigh of relief. There was no one in there, yet, Henry swore he heard faint whispers swimming over each other from somewhere in the darkness. As he leaned closer, the shadows teemed with life, beckoning him to join with the void.

Henry stepped back, uncertain of what he should do. There was no other way out of his apartment. Maybe this hole would lead him next door. At least, that's what he hoped. But deep down, he already knew that this hole, which would logically lead him next door, wouldn't do that. This hole was something else. Something meant just for him.

"I wonder if I can get out this way?" Henry questioned as he stepped closer to the hole. The only way to convince himself to proceed into the hole was to keep thinking that it was a way out. And if he said it aloud enough times, maybe he would begin to believe it.

Of course, when he crawled into the hole, he found out that the hole went somewhere totally unexpected.

III.

From the outside, South Ashfield Heights appeared to be a respectable apartment complex. Made of red brick, the outside of the three-story structure had only minor signs of wear and tear. Its U shape allowed people to see directly into the windows of their neighbors exactly opposite them on all three floors. The oak front door sat right in the middle, untouched by the weather and sun.

Trey was the first one through the door. He adjusted his crossbow on his shoulder and studied every aspect of the entry area. Columns of mailboxes lined the wall to the left with a hallway on one side and a staircase on the other. To the right was another hallway identical to the first.

Michael and Heather stepped inside and shut the door behind them.

"So what apartment is Henry in?" Trey asked. He continued to gaze about the entryway and take in every inch with his eyes.

Heather replied, "Apartment 302."

"You're not going to find anyone there. Not in apartment 302," an older man slowly emerged from the hallway on the right. With his well-kept gray hair, strong jawline, v-neck sweater and khakis, he looked more like a lost golfer than a tenant of the apartment complex.

"Who the hell are you?" Heather challenged.

Michael smiled. That was more like the Heather he knew and loved.

Frank chuckled, tickled by Heather's audacity and boldness. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to surprise you. I'm Frank Sunderland, the superintendent of South Ashfield Heights," he replied with a slightly hoarse voice.

"A superintendent?" Trey repeated suspiciously.

Frank caught his mistrustful tone. "I own the building and rent out the apartments. Think of me as an R.A. for this building."

Was Frank's reference to a resident assistant coincidental or did he somehow know that they were from the college? Michael immediately decided he didn't trust Frank, despite his amicable demeanor.

"We've got a friend that lives in 302 and we're here to visit," Trey explained. Michael caught the hint of suspicion in his voice too. "So we're just going to head up and—"

"No one has seen Mr. Townsend for the past week. No one has come in or out of his apartment either."

"How do you know? Have you been keeping tabs on his apartment?" Heather directly asked. Michael was glad that all three of them seemed to be on the same page. Frank Sunderland was not to be trusted. There was just something weird about him that Michael couldn't place his finger on.

Frank frowned deeply. "You make it sound as if I'm hiding something. Listen, there was an incident a few years ago in that apartment. Since then, I've had a careful eye on that place. Besides, I've tried to go up there and check on him, but no one answers."

Michael crossed his arms, dissatisfied with Frank's answer. "If you're the superintendent, don't you have an extra key to his apartment? Why don't you just open the door?"

Frank scratched his chin, meeting Michael's accusing stare. "It's strange. I can't seem to find the extra key to the apartment."

"Why not the master key then?" Michael rebutted.

Frank shook his head. "The lock was changed on the door after the incident, so the master key doesn't work on that door."

To Michael, everything sounded coincidental and fishy. Here they were, here to see Henry after the address was scrawled in blood across his window. They immediately ran into Frank, a sketchy character at best, who can't get into the apartment because of some random situations that just happen to fall in line to keep them from waltzing into the apartment. Already, things weren't looking good.

"May I ask what business you have with Mr. Townsend?" Frank asked, eying Trey's crossbow.

Heather caught Frank's glance and replied, "No, you can't. We're going up to his apartment. You can either show us where it is or stay out of our way. Your choice."

Frank's eyes widened with surprise then he returned to his calm state. "If you're here to start trouble, I will call the police. I won't allow some vigilante whippersnappers to disturb any of the residents here."

"Wait a minute, just calm down," Michael soothed. "We're not vigilantes. We're friends of Henry's. We met in Silent Hill."

"That resort town about an hour away? Yes, I do remember his pictures of Toluca Lake and a beautiful chapel there."

Heather rolled her eyes. "Whatever."

"We were passing through and wanted to stop by to say hi. It's been awhile. So, if you would show us to his apartment, it would be a big help."

Michael hoped his story didn't sound bogus. It wasn't as if he was lying. They did meet Henry in Silent Hill. And they really weren't vigilantes. Michael only left out the part about them having to fight for their lives against otherworldly creatures that were really people that had pledged themselves to a demon. He thought it would be best to exclude that part of their visit to Silent Hill.

Frank mulled over the story for a few seconds. Michael thought that Frank would have seen right through their flimsy story, but instead of asking a bunch of questions, Frank smiled. "I can show you to his apartment, but like I said, no one's seen him leave or come in for the past week."

"That's okay, maybe we'll just leave him a note," Michael replied as he headed for the stairs. Frank mumbled something under his breath but took the lead and headed up the stairs past Michael. Michael gave the others a quick nod before falling in behind Frank. Heather and Trey trailed behind, watchful for anything even remotely suspicious.

The inside of the apartment complex wasn't overly dark or menacing. It was clean, but there was still some hue to it that made everything look dark and potentially evil somehow. It really didn't make any sense to Michael and he assumed he was overreacting and being overly cautious. But he still couldn't shake the feeling that everything wasn't as it seemed.

When they reached the top, Michael immediately spotted a woman sweeping the hallway. She pushed her dark auburn hair out of her face and continued her rhythmic dance with the broom. When they came close, she looked up and greeted Frank.

"Mr. Sunderland," Eileen smiled. "How're you doing today?"

Mr. Sunderland gave her a slight wave and smiled. "Fine, fine. Any sign of your neighbor?"

Eileen shook her head. "I haven't seen him at all."

"Do you know him?" Trey asked.

"I've seen him around, but we really haven't spoken before," Eileen regretfully replied.

Though she had lived in the apartment quite some time, Eileen realized that she really didn't know that many people in the apartment building. There were only a few that she spoke to in passing, like Richard Braintree, but everyone else was a complete stranger to her. Even her next door neighbor.

From the few passing greetings Eileen and Henry had exchanged, she could tell that he was a nice guy. Not like a geeky nice guy though but someone kind and amicable. It was a plus that Eileen hadn't noticed any girls (or any guys) going in and out of his apartment at all times of the night. So he must be single. Eileen had also noticed the large photographs and camera equipment, so she figured that he was a photojournalist or something like that.

However, all this was simply based on assumptions about the small things she had noticed. She never really had the gumption to ask him. And he seemed aloof, so he never picked up on her curious glances, which was a slight disappointment for Eileen.

She watched as Frank knocked on the door and tested the doorknob to no avail. Her eyes smoothly moved form Frank to the three strangers standing behind him, watching anxiously. They were an exceptionally good-looking crowd. Both the guys were hot and even the girl was cute in her own right. But there seemed to be something dangerous about them. Something that Eileen immediately sensed and didn't really care for.

"No answer?" Michael asked. He knew it was a dumb question and he would've chastised anyone else for asking it, but it was more of an attempt to shatter the uncomfortable silence that weaved its way into the hallway.

Frank shook his head.

Michael sighed heavily and turned to Heather and Trey. "Maybe we can just stay in a hotel tonight and come back in the morning. Maybe he'll be back by then."

Heather opened her mouth to protest, but Michael shook his head. In his mind, he said, _We can't say too much right now. I don't trust anyone in this apartment complex. For all we know, they're all cult members. Let's just play it cool for now and think of some other way to get into his apartment later._

Heather nodded as if she had picked up his entire internal rationale. "That's a good idea," she unexpectedly replied.

Frank thought for a moment then offered, "Well, maybe I can set you guys up in an apartment for the night then. I have a furnished one on the first floor. The people that were supposed to move in decided to rent somewhere else. It's furnished, clean, and it's free."

Michael immediately thought of the experience each one of them had at the gas station, which was a little ways from here. If they stayed right where they suspected the evil was, would the attacks be far worse? Michael didn't exactly like putting themselves into a vulnerable situation, especially when they really didn't know what was going on.

Before Michael could decline, Trey replied, "Hey, thanks. We'll take you up on your offer."

"What?" Michael reflexively objected, but Trey gave him a knowing glance. Michael calmed down a little, but he still didn't feel that staying in the apartment complex was a good idea. There was nothing worse than being stabbed in the shower by some unknown creep or being assaulted in your bed by some invisible, malevolent force. And there were plenty of horror movies where those exact things happened and the victims were totally caught unaware, unarmed, and unprepared.

Michael shrugged, trying his best to not appear severely alarmed. "Well, I guess. I just didn't want to impose."

Frank brushed off Michael's hesitation. "You're not imposing. You kids look like you need a nice place to stay anyways. Maybe you can help find our missing resident."

_That's just what we intend to do,_ Michael thought.

He followed behind Frank, Heather, and Trey, giving one last glance to Eileen before disappearing down the stairs. Though he couldn't put his finger on it, Michael knew that the situation here had already escalated, and it was quite possible that they were too late to save Henry or find Christine.

Notes:

This story begins with the beginning of Silent Hill 4.

The incident in apartment 302 that Frank refers to will be covered in a later chapter. But those of you that have played the game know exactly what happened.

In case you didn't catch the reference, the horror movies Michael is specifically referring to is Psycho and The Exorcist. A similar situation happened in Poltergeist as well. I love these horror movie references!

B.O.W. 121: Thanks for the review and I'm glad you're as excited about the sequel as you were about the other two stories. I hope that I can match the momentum of Silent Hill: Lost Souls and Silent Hill 3: Harry Mason.

Richard B. Sampson Jr.: Rich, thanks for the review. I've been working hard to try to create likable but real characters. Keep me in line as the story progresses.

DarknessinShadows: Glad you liked the first chapter and thanks for coming back for the sequel.

Nocturnal007: And I've updated!

Rodarian: Yes, it's hard to believe it has been that long already since I finished Silent Hill: Lost Souls. I definitely hope to keep the scares and adventure coming for our three protagonists.

Duelist-17: lol. If you see 21 refrigerators and only one bottle of water in there, don't reach for it. Oh, and don't use the bathrooms there either. lol. Thanks for the review. I promise, no more gas station scares.

Schreiberjoe: Yes, after a few months of debating about it, I decided to write a sequel. And ummm, I'm a bit scared so I'll definitely keep writing. If for no other reason, to keep my rectum and intestines in tact. Sound good?

Kyliemason: Yes, definitely work on your art. I can't wait to see what you come up with for the characters. I want to know ASAP when you've completed some of your work.


	3. Just a Dream?

I.

"Now, where did Henry go?" Cynthia Velasquez asked aloud.

She stood outside of the women's bathroom, unsure of where her dream lover had gone. But it was a dream, so his disappearance wasn't really that strange. After all, stranger things happen in dreams, right?

Cynthia wasn't so sure. Since she had met Henry, a creeping doubt had festered and continued to grow. Though rationally, Cynthia knew that she must be dreaming, something felt wrong and horribly real about her present situation. But how could it be real?

Cynthia had started off the day normally, intending to meet Abe and Mia at a swank coffee shop in Silent Hill. Not really wanting to deal with the traffic, Cynthia decided to take the subway train there, which was only a thirty minute trip. But as soon as she entered the subway, things took an odd turn.

The subway was strangely abandoned. During this time of day, it should have been bustling with people rushing to and from work and other appointments. Yet, the stairs were empty, the halls were empty, no one manned the token booths, and when she got to the subway train, they were standing still, completely empty.

She thought about simply going back up to the street and finding out what was going on. Maybe she missed something in the paper about repairs being done or some other circumstance that would contribute to the abandonment of the subway. Then she thought about it some more. She had been feeling a bit woozy all morning, like everything around her was cast in a slight fog and she was simply floating from her townhouse to the subway.

At first, it seemed to make sense. She hadn't even gotten out of bed. She was dreaming. Her appointment with Abe and Mia, the outfit she decided to wear, her trip to the subway station—all of it were simply products of her unconscious mind as she peacefully lay in her own bed. The more she thought about it, the more sense it seemed to make.

When she ran across Henry, it further solidified her belief that she was in a dream. Of all the people for her to run into, she happens upon a handsome man, innocently seductive and willing to play her hero. What were the chances of that happening in real life?

So Cynthia promised to make it worth his while if he helped her find the exit. Now, her hint of a sexual encounter with Henry wasn't exactly her normal behavior. She was sure that if Mia had heard how she had spoken to Henry, Mia would have told Cynthia that she was acting whorish.

_It's just a dream. I might as well have some fun,_ Cynthia thought then later said to Henry. He agreed to help her, but didn't seem to desire the seductive payment Cynthia was willing to give.

After finding more empty hallways and several inexplicably locked doors, Cynthia was hit with a wave of nausea. She staggered with surprise and fright. It was a dream and people weren't supposed to get sick in dreams. Yet, Cynthia felt a strong urge to release whatever had upset her stomach.

Luckily, they were by some restrooms, so Cynthia dashed inside and found a decently clean toilet. Much to her horror, she threw up blood-tinged matter—oranges, browns, and greens thrown together in a melody of chaos. Cynthia hadn't eaten that morning and only had a sandwich from a deli down the street the evening before. Sure, there were a few adult beverages thrown in there, but no more than normal. Before she could ponder over it again, her stomach lurched, and she heaved again.

After two more bouts of heaving, Cynthia flushed the toilet and made her way to the sink. No mirrors. Great. She probably looked like hell now, and her little fantasy would be dashed to bits. But it was a dream, so she probably looked fine.

She turned on the water and rinsed out her mouth with a few handfuls of water. Cynthia scrunched her nose at the odd taste, but it was ten times better than the taste of vomit. But she shouldn't be able to taste anything because she was dreaming. It was all just a dream, yet everything seemed real, which began to scare her.

If all this was real, then what the hell had happened? How could she have been magically transported to an abandoned subway without knowing it? And the most important question of all, why?

Cynthia now stood outside the bathroom looking to the left and right, surprised that there was no sign of Henry anywhere. It was like he had disappeared along with the rest of the people that were supposed to be in the subway. But if he was there with her, then maybe he had been unwittingly led to the abandoned subway too.

She pushed all the thoughts out of her head. Everything was suddenly too weird to think about. And it didn't make any damn sense.

Cynthia decided to explore some more. She walked down another empty hallway, her only company the tap of her heels on the concrete floors. She had the distinct feeling that something dark was lurking somewhere nearby, waiting patiently to make its move. Cynthia thought she was alone, now that Henry had vanished. But what if there was something else?

She slowed her pace, sure that a growl had come from somewhere up ahead. Cynthia peered toward the end of the hallway, which turned sharply to the right. Immediately, the darkness made Cynthia think twice about advancing any farther. Then, there it was—another growl like a deep rumbling of an agitated hunter. And it was getting closer.

Cynthia stopped walking and stared as something inhuman emerged. Melting out of the shadows, a four-legged nightmare padded into the dim light. Cynthia brought her hand to her chest, the disbelief in what she was seeing threatening to stop her heart.

The closest thing Cynthia could relate the monstrosity to was a dog, yet it was no where near any dog she had ever seen or imagined. Mostly skinless with small patches of olive and sienna rotted skin, dangling snake-like tongue, deep holes for ears, eyes like ebony ovals, deadly fangs dripping with thick saliva, wet and exposed muscles—none of it could have been created by nature. The demon-dog moved in a jerky fashion, its muscles appearing to be in a continuous spasm. It was something spawned from Hell itself and now, its eyes settled on Cynthia.

Cynthia realized she had been holding her breath, but she was scared to exhale. When she did exhale, the demon-dog perked up and began to advance toward her.

_Okay. It might be a monster, but maybe it's like a dog too. Just don't run, and it won't attack,_ Cynthia told herself. She took hesitant steps backwards, slow and deliberate. Sharp, quick movements would surely give the demon-dog the wrong idea and it might take her retreating movements as aggressive advances.

Cynthia managed to retreat about ten feet from the demon-dog, which plodded toward her carefully but kept its eyes locked on Cynthia. Then it stopped. Another growl rose from its throat, echoing throughout the hallway. Cynthia could clearly see the demon-dog's exposed muscles tense. In the next second, it bolted and ran straight at Cynthia.

Like the dog, Cynthia was on edge. The moment the demon-dog sprang forward, Cynthia spun on her heel and fled in the opposite direction.

The dog's claws clicked rapidly across the concrete, and its heavy pants drew closer to her. She didn't make the mistake of glancing over her shoulder—instead she kept her eyes forward, concentrating on running as fast as possible to escape being eaten alive.

The hallway turned sharply to the right and Cynthia timed her strides just right to make the turn without slowing down. The demon-dog tried to make the turn as well, but slammed into the opposite wall instead. Unfazed, the demon-dog focused on its prey and picked up speed in pursuit.

She made a sudden turn to the right into a doorway and slammed the door behind her. Cynthia hoped the closed door would give her a few seconds of lead time as she continued to run down yet another similar hallway. But the demon-dog simply leaped through the fragile door, leaving behind splinters of wood and a gaping hole.

Cynthia's lungs felt like they were going to explode. She tried to control her breathing, but the hard running, adrenaline, and fear constricted her lungs. Her throat was burning and her legs felt heavy, still she pumped her arms and tried to maintain some distance between her and the demon-dog.

Despite her best efforts, the tireless mongrel was closing the gap. Cynthia risked a quick peek behind her and saw it getting closer and closer. Cynthia looked back forward and saw she was coming close to a dead end.

_No, it can't end like this. This is not how it's supposed to be!_

She chanced one more glance and saw the dog gain a bit more speed then it became airborne, leaping right toward Cynthia's head.

Cynthia ducked as the demon-dog missed her head by inches. She watched in horror as it sailed over then winced as the dog hit the wall with a sickening crack. It hit the floor like a heavy sack of potatoes. Then everything was quiet again.

Cynthia stared only for a moment at the canine, hoping that it was out of commission. Not wanting to linger any longer, she glanced upward and spied a vent cover hanging by a single loose screw. Raising up on her toes, she easily reached the vent cover and with a single yank, pulled it completely off. She scurried into the vent shaft headfirst, praying the demon-dog didn't suddenly perk up, leap into the vent behind her, and devour her from the legs up.

The shaft was only fifteen feet long. Cynthia quickly came to another loose vent cover. She pushed it off and awkwardly lowered herself into the room below. Jumping down about two feet did nothing for her already aching feet, but she was glad to have escaped her pursuer.

The first thing Cynthia noticed was the writing scrawled in some kind of red paint.

_Henry can't save you._

The note itself was menacing and threatening. Drops of fresh crimson rolled down the wall from each letter. Below the note, Cynthia saw a normal-looking phone set on top of a table next to a slew of tokens for the Lynch Line.

Though she expected the phone line to be dead, she lifted the receiver, and almost cheered when a phone rang on the other end. Someone on the other end picked it up, and somehow, Cynthia knew that it was Henry.

"Where'd you go?" Cynthia breathed into the phone. Without waiting for an answer, she continued, "Hurry...save me. If you need a token, there's one here." Cynthia wanted to hear Henry respond. She wanted to know that her hero was coming to take her away from this living nightmare.

But the phone went dead, devouring any hope she had of getting help.

II.

Michael trailed behind Heather and Trey, who followed Frank down the stairs and to the right. He led them to apartment 104, the one he had suggested that they stay in for the night. Frank chattered on about small inconsequential things, but Michael wasn't paying a bit of attention. His mind raced over various aspects of their current situation. At the same time, he attempted to formulate a plan of attack to investigate apartment 302 and how to enter the world of Silent Hill to find Christine.

So far, Michael was surprised that they had gone without incident since the gas station. They hadn't run into anyone even remotely resembling the strange man that had accosted both him and Heather. Then again, there were three floors of apartments. The odd man could have been lurking anywhere, secretly watching them and waiting until they weren't suspecting then sneak up behind them and slit their throats.

Again, Michael shook his head, trying to push out his pessimistic thoughts.

He decided to simply take everything one step at a time. And right now, they had to contend with getting situated for the night in this strange, new apartment.

Frank led the way through the door of 104, giving them a short tour of the two-bedroom apartment and commenting that it had the same floor plan as Henry's apartment. He showed them some of the niceties of the apartment—refrigerator, gas stove, heating and cooling unit, washer and dryer, large flat-screen television, DVD player, Playstation 2, stereo, and on and on. Michael swore that Frank was really trying to rent the apartment to them instead of letting them stay for one night.

Finally, frank finished his standard speech then told them that he lived next door in apartment 105 and to stop by if they needed anything. With that, Frank left them alone in the apartment.

Michael took a moment to look around. Honestly, besides being a little bleak, it was a nice apartment. Fully furnished with a view of a park from the windows in the living room and bedroom, spacious, and private—if Michael hadn't known that there was something evil brewing somewhere in the apartment building, he would have considered taking up residence in South Ashfield Heights.

Another factor that Michael liked was the overall serenity of the hallways. Michael noticed the lack of residents idly standing in the hallways, staring at the newbies. In fact, Eileen was the only other tenant Michael had seen. He caught a glimpse of the others from their windows when he was outside, but none of those people were anywhere to be seen on the inside.

With Frank gone, everyone seemed to relax a little.

"Well, that was too easy. Not only did we find the apartment, but we scored ourselves a free place to stay," Trey smiled. He flopped down on the couch and waved away a cloud of dust, before crossing his feet on the edge of the coffee table. "I thought he said this place was clean."

Michael ran his hand across the counter and found a layer of dust caked on it. "It doesn't look like anyone's been in here for at least a few months." He quickly inspected a high chair before taking a seat.

Heather gazed out of the window for a moment then turned to Michael and Trey. "I don't know if staying here is the smartest idea."

"Look if we're already here, it will be easier to sneak around. Plus, we'll have a reason to be here, so the other neighbors won't be so suspicious," Trey explained.

"I agree with Heather," Michael said. "If we know something strange is going on here, we shouldn't put ourselves right in the middle of it, especially because we really don't know what we're dealing with. But, if that guy we saw at the gas station has anything to do with what's happening here, it doesn't matter where we are. He'll find us. I don't necessarily like staying here for the night, but it's the best way we're going to find out what's going on with Henry and find Christine."

Heather didn't fully agree with his logic, but she at least understood where he was coming from. And for the most part, it made sense. But, just like with her father, she couldn't fully comprehend why anyone would opt to stay right in the middle of something horrific. Instead of moving across the country, Harry Mason decided to move right outside of Silent Hill. And for that matter, so did Cybil. Dumb.

And now, Heather was practically doing the same thing. Again, dumb.

They still didn't understand what Silent Hill was, but Heather did. She knew even better than her father. Yet, even this was beyond her understanding. And honestly, it frightened her.

"Since we're staying here, we should try to find a way to get into Henry's apartment," Heather offered as an idea. She figured that the sooner they find Henry, the sooner they could move on to finding Christine Mitchell.

"Agreed," Michael replied. "I think it's a bit strange though that Frank couldn't find the extra key."

Trey perked up. "Hey, didn't Frank say his last name was Sunderland?"

Michael nodded. "Yeah. I noticed that too. Like James Sunderland, the guy who reported the strange occurrences in Silent Hill, then was committed."

Heather frowned. Even more connections to Silent Hill. She could see a nearly invisible thread weaving everything together, like the spider slowly weaving a web to catch a fly. "Do you think they're related?" Heather asked, but she really didn't want to hear the answer.

"I'd rather not ask. I really don't trust him as it is. With that kind of connection to Silent Hill, he would be my number one choice for a cult fanatic," Michael replied.

Trey complimented the comment. "He does seem a little fishy. Actually, that girl, Henry's neighbor, seemed a bit off too."

"She seemed okay to me," Michael dismissed the notion of Eileen being mixed up in the situation. But on second thought, it was good to be a little wary of everyone, no matter how innocent or aloof they seemed. Michael then added, "I think it was your crossbow. You probably scared her. You're brandishing that thing like Conan's blade. You've got to keep it hidden or something."

Trey flashed his slightly goofy grin. "Look, just because I have a bigger weapon than you doesn't mean you have to be jealous, Mikey."

"Size doesn't matter. It's all about the way you work the weapon," Michael smoothly replied.

Heather rolled her eyes and gave an exaggerated sigh. "You guys can cut out all the macho double-speak you're throwing around. It's just lame."

"Well, sounds like you're back to normal," Trey muttered.

"Did you say something?" Heather asked.

"Nothing at all," Trey grinned.

Heather shook her head and fought back a smile. She didn't know how she could smile with some unnerving horror looming right on the edges of her consciousness, waiting to pounce on them at any given moment. Even with those thoughts, Heather simply wanted to enjoy her new friends even if it was for the last time.

As Michael's laugh died down, he spied a corner of a piece of paper sticking out from under the couch. The white paper contrasted starkly against the dark carpet, making Michael wonder why they didn't notice it before. Kneeling down, Michael carefully puller the letter from under the couch and slowly opened it.

"What's that?" Trey asked. He watched Michael read through the letter. As he got closer to the bottom, he frowned even harder, piquing Trey's interest with every passing second.

Michael looked at Heather and Trey. "I think we've got our first puzzle."

III.

_Alas, behind closed doors_

_Even foul ghouls have insight_

_Just kneel, lay, march nightly_

_Or pray quietly, recounting songs_

_Talk under veils with Xenocrates,_

_Young zealot_

Michael read through the passage one more time then gave up trying to decipher it. He passed it along to Trey and Heather, who stared at each other with perplexed expressions.

"It doesn't make any sense," Trey said. "I mean, is this really a clue or is it something that someone just randomly wrote in their diary?"

Heather replied, "If you're expecting these things to ever make sense, you're going to spend the rest of the night disappointed."

Michael took back the piece of paper and read through it again. Most of their other clues were much more direct, basically telling them how to find a key or open a locked door. But like Trey said, this seemed more like something from a hidden diary or journal.

"Trey's right," Michael finally said. "Most of our other clues have been a little less obscure. I mean, who is Xenocrates?"

"A Greek philosopher," Trey replied.

Michael was stunned. "How'd you know that? Wait a minute. Please don't tell me you learned it in class. I swear we did not go to the same school."

Trey smugly smiled. "Maybe you should have paid attention in Philosophy 310." "Well, at least you're slightly useful. When you actually use your brain, you resemble being smart," Heather couldn't pass on the opening for a well timed insult.

Trey brushed off Heather's comment. "Anyways, what would a Greek philosopher have to do with anything in this place?"

Michael shook his head in amusement then looked at each word one more time and realized why it had been written. And he was almost embarrassed to admit he didn't notice it before. "We're looking for the passage to make sense, but it's not going to. The message isn't in the whole thing, but in each word. Look at this."

Trey and Heather leaned over Michael's shoulder and read through the passage again.

After a few moments of reading, Trey said, "Still not following you, Mike."

Heather made a sound of surprise. "It's the alphabet. From beginning to end. An anagram of sorts."

Trey looked at again. "Hey, you're right."

Michael immediately stood and headed toward the bookcase next to the window in the living room. He scanned the shelves until he found a Merriam-Webster dictionary. The maroon cover was worn and the corners were slightly frayed. When Michael opened it, the pages were stiff and emitted an old musty smell, putting Michael in mind of a library. He flipped through it carefully and found another folded piece of paper stuck somewhere in the middle of the L's.

He put down the dictionary and turned to Heather and Trey, holding up the piece of paper. "Looks like we've got clue number two."

He quickly opened it as Trey and Heather surrounded him. Unlike the first clue, this one was much more direct, though it was obviously a page out of a personal journal.

_I hid the key to room 302. That superintendent, the sneaky devil, rented that place out again. He knows what that room holds, but he'll never get rid of that old stinky box. It's all wrong, all of it. The key, I'll take it away. No one else will be made to open that door, especially that weird guy._

"I think they may be talking about the same guy we saw at the gas station," Heather offered. Michael nodded in agreement, assured that the strange man had a prominent role in what was happening.

_I put it in a safe box inside the closet. There's no way Frank will figure out the code. Analyzing art never was his strong point._

The trio looked at one another. Without a word, they headed back to the bedroom. Trey threw open the French doors to the closet and spotted the safe box on the floor. He lifted it, surprised at the small size and light weight.

"Okay, so we've got the box, how do we get the code?" Trey asked.

Heather stared at a large picture centered above the bed. "The clue said something about it being somewhere in the picture." She studied the picture, which depicted a quaint park scene. She recognized it as a park in Silent Hill, but the name escaped her. Still, there was no indication of any numbers or anything being blatantly obvious.

"Figure it out?" Michael asked, studying the painting as well.

"I don't see anything that would—" Heather stopped abruptly. She looked across the middle of the painting from the left to the right and saw three distinct shapes that suddenly seemed blatantly obvious. A pentagon, a circle, and a triangle. But the three shapes weren't obvious in the slightest. They were camouflaged, taking the characteristics of whatever they were set against, like the grass, trees, and the statue in the middle of someone named Jennifer Carroll. "I see them—the three shapes. The code to the box."

"Huh?" Trey climbed on the bed and stared at the painting obnoxiously close. "There aren't any shapes in here."

"I can see them," Heather hesitantly said. Then a thought came to her. Maybe she could see them because of the attenuation with Silent Hill. Though they were an hour away from Silent Hill, the evil there must have somehow spread to South Ashfield. And certain things would only be visible to Heather or anyone else attuned with Silent Hill.

She gave Michael a glance. He tore his eyes from the picture and met Heather's gaze. The look in his eyes told her that he saw them too—his connection with Silent Hill hadn't been broken like he had initially thought.

Michael didn't say anything. A frigid chill racked him from head to foot. He quickly spun the three number dials on the box. Five, zero, and three. With a click, the box opened and a key labeled 302 sat at the bottom.

"Looks like we've got the key," Trey said as he leaped off the bed, still a little perturbed that he couldn't see the shapes. He wondered if Michael had seen them since Heather had only said she saw the shapes. She didn't say what she saw, yet Michael opened the box without a word. He figured that Michael would tell him just what was going on when he was ready.

"Now, we can get into Henry's apartment and find out exactly what's going on," Michael resolved. With that, the three of them headed out of apartment 104, determined to discover what lie behind the door of apartment 302.

Notes:

Cynthia's scene attempts to fill in the gap from when Henry and Cynthia become separated at the bathroom.

It has not ever been determined whether James and Frank are related. They do look similar and have the same uncommon last name.

The statue of Jennifer Carroll can be seen in Rosewater Park, which was an area James investigated in Silent Hill 2. What is not mentioned is that the resident of 104 received the painting from Henry, who spent some time in Silent Hill.

Michael displayed a disturbing connection to Silent Hill after he was traumatized by cult members at the college. He thought that his new found abilities had diminished after Samael was cast back into darkness, but this display shows that his attenuation to Silent Hill and its evil hasn't completely diminished.

Jammer69er: Now you know this wouldn't be a true horror story without people making some traditional horror movie mistakes (i.e. let's investigate the basement while the power's out—let's check out the haunted house at night when they could have easily gone during the day). And you hit the nail on the head. It's not going to end well. Glad you like the story so far and I hope this new chapter is to your liking.

Centurious: Thanks for the compliments! I hope to throw in some more disturbing scenes and some that are just downright scary.

Rodarian: The fact that it's a tainted version of Silent Hill is going to come into play in some future chapters as well. When I went back and played through the game, that's what came to my mind. And yes, as you see, Cynthia has been included in this chapter. They will be meeting with Richard Braintree in the next chapter. They will be seeing most of the residents of South Ashfield Heights before they are destined to their doomed fate.

DarknessinShadows: And once again, I've updated :)

Kyliemason: I'm going to do my best to keep the characters in tact from the last story. Yeah, Cybil did suffer a rough fate in Silent Hill. I hadn't realized it, but I guess "officially" Cybil is dead. Whatever. That's the glory of fan fiction, you can really take some liberties and do what you want. Glad you still love the first story and I hope you're enjoying this second one just as much.

Scheiberjoe: Yes, you will definitely see the other characters in this story. It is going to run parallel to Silent Hill 4, and I actually hope to fill in some gaps that Silent Hill 4 has. The scene with Cynthia is just the beginning.


	4. Subway Murder

I.

They were separated. Again.

After the phone call abruptly ended, Cynthia decided to keep moving through the subway. She had to find a way out before anymore demon dogs decided to make her their prey. Cynthia passed though a few more doors and revolving gates then found herself roaming through an empty subway train.

Cynthia knew that something was horribly wrong. The floors were covered in some membranous layer with hooks attached to chains pulling at various spots. The chains themselves were black and oily, dangling from the ceiling with no other purpose than to latch onto something soft and not let go. Cynthia made sure she didn't touch anything.

But at the height of her exploration, both the doors suddenly closed and locked. Trapped with no way out. On top of that, Cynthia swore she saw someone in a long black trench coat disappear into the darkness, but she dismissed it, concentrating more on getting herself out of the subway train car. Then along came Henry.

All he needed was a few minutes to explore. Henry found the door release and saved Cynthia from her prison. She wanted to hug and kiss him, not out of passion, but for the simple fact that her hero had come through for her. Despite the brief phone call, Henry had somehow made his way through the subway and found her. Cynthia secretly vowed to stay close to him as they made their way through the abandoned subway station.

But despite every intention Cynthia had of not being separated, when they got to a stopping point and Cynthia glanced away for a moment, Henry simply vanished. Cynthia was alone.

At that point, Cynthia wasn't sure exactly how they were split apart. They were together one second then the next second, Henry simply vanished. His disappearing act wasn't all that surprising though. With everything that Cynthia had seen up to this point, she knew that there was some higher, evil power at work. Something completely beyond her understanding. She kept pushing away the nagging feeling that whatever this power was that imprisoned her and Henry did it for a reason and their fates were sealed no matter what they tried to do.

Maybe he was just a figment of her imagination. But Cynthia knew that she wasn't that imaginative. Besides, if she could create her own hero, she would have made someone with large muscles and armed heavily with guns, grenades, and knives. Henry Townsend wasn't exactly her Superman, but she wouldn't complain about his presence there with her.

Cynthia decided to delay her dissection of the situation until she found the exit. If Henry disappeared, then he would reappear just like he did before. And when he did, they would get out of the subway, go to the police, and do their best to describe the horrific things they saw in the subway. Cynthia didn't care whether they would believe her or not, but someone had to know. Their story had to be told.

She moved stealthily through the darkened hallways of the subway station, weary of dark corners and even darker doorways, but she journeyed without incident until she came to an office. As Cynthia neared the door, she noticed a purse sitting by the door. A unique design, she instantly recognized it—it was hers. But how did it get here of all places?

She picked it up and quickly surveyed the contents. Yes, it was hers. Her lipstick, her keys, her handkerchief, and nothing had been taken out or put in. It was just her purse, sitting here waiting for her to find it. Before Cynthia could decide on her next move, she felt eyes boring into the back of her head. She spun around and saw the figure that she had only caught a glimpse of earlier.

"Who are you?" Cynthia whispered, unable to keep the fear out of her voice. Not only had this man appeared out of nowhere and was probably responsible for locking her in the subway car, but the unhealthy way his eyes lingered on Cynthia and her body made her uneasy.

"Walter Sullivan," he replied. His gravelly, whispery voice set Cynthia on edge. She already knew that Walter had no intentions of helping her. He advanced toward Cynthia slowly, his eyes still molesting her body.

Cynthia backed up a step. "What do you want?" she breathily asked. Cynthia felt as if all the air had escaped from the area and the walls had closed in on her, leaving only her and Walter inside of a small prison. Cynthia's legs felt heavy as she realized what Walter was after. He wanted her body.

Walter advanced steadily with disregard to Cynthia's retreating steps and inane questions."Stay back!" Cynthia warned, but her voice faltered, diluting her warning to nothing more than a child's plea. "Don't come any closer!"

Cynthia kept backing up until she hit the wall. Then, Walter was upon her, pressing himself against her, his hot, rancid breath clouding her vision and constricting her throat. She pushed against him slightly, but he pressed harder and noisily sniffed the nape of her neck like some hungry animal. Then he pushed her against the wall, his face only inches from hers.

"You, the temptress, wish to taint men with your wily ways," Walter hissed. "Your services will serve a much higher purpose than you could ever imagine." His body threatened to crush Cynthia against the wall.

Cynthia had heard enough. Her life was in danger and her hero may not make it in time to save her. Surprising Walter, Cynthia slapped him with her free hand, brought her knee to his sensitive area, then knocked him across the face with her purse. She surprised herself with the force behind the blow, but before she could reengage, the purse slipped from her fingers and all the contents clattered to the floor.

Weaponless, Cynthia was still determined to overcome Walter. She drew back her fist and awkwardly punched him in the jaw. Walter lost his balance and fell to the ground. He didn't move.

Thinking only about separating herself from Walter, Cynthia dashed into the office, which was unlocked much to her surprise, and slammed the door behind her. A push of a button on the knob engaged the lock and then Cynthia fell against the door, taking a deep breath. She realized that Walter was only knocked out, so she only had a few minutes to compose herself, make a new plan, and somehow escape, hopefully with Henry by her side.

The horrible thought came to her mind that maybe Walter had already found Henry and done something horrible to him. It would have been easy for Walter to slip through the shadows and happen upon an unsuspecting Henry, the same way Walter had sneaked up on her. But Walter had been following her. He definitely was the individual that locked her in the subway car. He had probably stalked Cynthia and Henry for the last part of their journey, determined to happen upon Cynthia alone.

_What a creep!_ she thought. She hoped that Henry was okay and still wandering around looking for her.

As her breathing returned to normal, Cynthia spied a microphone and intercom panel. That was it! She would simply call out to Henry to meet her at the exit then they could leave together.

Cynthia crossed the room and glanced over the panel. She never was technically savvy, so all the buttons and switches were overwhelming. But the power button stood out like a beacon. She pressed it and the panel came to life with lights and quiet beeps. Cynthia snatched the microphone from its holder and depressed the talk button.

"Henry, I found the exit. Come to the turnstile." Cynthia took a short pause then repeated her message again. Before she could add anything else, a forceful pounding resounded from the opposite side of the door.

Cynthia's heart skipped a beat. "Hurry! Hurry! It's him! He's coming!" she yelled into the microphone.

Just as she finished, the door flew open and Walter stepped into the room.

The glint of light from the knife was only momentary. Despite fighting and struggling, the blade was quickly covered in thick crimson and the fight was over. But Walter's job wasn't done. There was still one more thing to do.

He stabbed the tip of the blade into her chest and began to work it around like a child with a large crayon. Satisfied with his work, he stood and regarded it proudly. Fully taking in the scene, Walter gave a disgusted look before turning away, his conscious already absolved of guilt and remorse for the gruesome murder he had just committed.

II.

Henry Townsend forced his eyes open and bolted upright. His heart was racing and he struggled to get a good breath of air. His eyes darted around, at first alarmed at his surroundings, but as he took it all in and his eyes began to focus, Henry began to calm down.

Only moments ago Henry was in an office, cradling Cynthia in his arms. She had been brutally attacked and a series of numbers had been carved into her chest. He had gotten there much too late to save her, and she had died in his arms.

But now, he was back in his bedroom. Was it all a terrible dream? Henry wasn't sure but his head still hurt and he felt worn.

"Cynthia," Henry said aloud.

Before he could attempt to piece everything together, the wail of sirens floated up to Henry's apartment. "Man, what's that noise out there?" Henry asked. He sprang out of bed and stumbled over to the window.

An ambulance and police car were haphazardly parked in the street, next to the entrance to the subway. Henry had a clear view of the police and medical personnel rushing into the dark depths of the subway. He waited to hear gunshots or to see people running out screaming, having seen some of the horrors that Henry saw in the subway, but nothing like that happened.

_Is it Cynthia? No, maybe it was just a dream,_ Henry thought.

He left his bedroom and went to the living room. He chanced a glance at the front door, hoping something had changed. But the chains and locks were still in place. Henry chocked back a forlorn sigh then stopped as a scream of static erupted from the radio.

Henry eyed the device suspiciously, undecided on whether he should cross the room and turn it off or get a bat and obliterate it. Maybe he would just do both.

"Hurry up and get that ambulance," a nasal voice said over the static.

"Quit yappin' and move her already!" a husky voice commanded.

Henry was puzzled. It sounded like he was overhearing a radio transmission from some emergency vehicles. No, not just any vehicles, but the ones below his apartment outside of the subway. But that wasn't possible. His nine year old stereo could barely pick up any of the local radio stations here in the city. Yet, it had somehow become attuned with a radio conversation that Henry wasn't sure he was supposed to hear.

"Damn," the nasal voice cursed. "She's got numbers carved into her chest. I wonder if—"

_Numbers carved into her chest?_ Henry felt his stomach knot and his mouth go dry. Cynthia had numbers cut into her chest by her murderer. But that would mean that everything was real. The empty subway, demon dogs, pulsating worm, and wall wraiths were all real. Henry hadn't dreamed any of it. And it meant that Cynthia was really dead. Some woman that Henry had only met hours ago was now dead and Henry was the only witness. But he was trapped in his apartment.

That also meant that the horrors of Silent Hill had somehow manifested themselves here in South Ashfield Heights. And someone was using those powers to murder innocent people. Henry didn't know how he would stop it or what he could do by himself, but he resolved not to let someone else be killed. Henry figured that his adventure with Harry Mason and Tina Grey had somehow connected him with Silent Hill and he had again been chosen to find out what was going on.

Henry ran to the bathroom and without hesitation, leaped into the hole. He didn't notice that it had grown bigger since the last time. Nor did he notice the increased fervor of whispers floating from the darkness.

He would find Cynthia's murderer. But what would happen when he found her murderer?

III.

Eileen Galvin shook her head and frowned. "There's something going on in this room."

Richard peered at the door as if he could see through it, expecting some kind of telltale sign of something going on. But there was nothing strange about the door, nothing remotely alarming about the apartment, and no other noises except them talking. "What do you mean?"

"I heard some weird noises coming from inside there." Eileen thought for a moment then asked, "Hey, Richard. Can you see anything from your window?"

Richard's eyes shifted, and he looked a bit surprised by the question. Then he realized why she had asked. His apartment was directly across from Henry's. It was only logical to presume that's the only reason why she asked. But still, if she had seen him watching people with his binoculars, she was a liability that he couldn't afford to have. Maybe he would just have to get rid of her...

"No," he answered, dismissing his thoughts. "Everything seems pretty normal to me." Richard took another look at the door. "The guy who lives here, what's he like anyway?"

Eileen shook her head. "I know his name and face, but that's about it."

But then she thought about it. They had spoken a few times, and he seemed like a decent guy, not the type that would have something strange going on in their apartment. She hadn't told Richard, but the strange noises she heard weren't just everyday cacophony. These noises were something unholy and evil. Though she didn't know that for a fact, but the strange moans and other indescribable sounds scared her. And it gave her the feeling that there was something more to this odd circumstance than someone locking themselves in their apartment.

However, Eileen didn't voice her true feelings, afraid that Richard would think that she was being paranoid and superstitious.

After a few moments of contemplation, Richard replied, "Well, I'm going to go call the super."

Eileen nodded, unsure if that would really help or not. Still, it seemed like a logical thing to do, so she didn't argue. "Yeah, good idea," Eileen absently replied.

She watched as Richard strode down the hallway and then he disappeared down the steps. Eileen gave another look at the door, positive that she had heard a man's voice screaming for help.

IV.

Michael grasped the key tightly, surprised that they had already found the way into Henry Townsend's apartment. But then he started to question just what they were facing.

The owner's diary was unsettling, implicating Frank Sunderland in something strange going on right here in South Ashfield Heights. The apartment and the strange box that Frank may or may not possess were both mentioned in the diary, which only created more mistrust for Frank. Just what was he up to?

Not only that, but they had yet to see the strange figure that had accosted them in the gas station.

Michael snapped back to the situation at hand. He nodded to both Heather and Trey, strode out of the bedroom, down the hallway, and to the front door. However, a sharp shriek of static halted them.

Trey stepped toward the radio, his face begging the question, _who the hell turned on the radio? _He stepped toward it hesitantly, the menacing sounds emerging from the radio just as threatening as some physical monstrosity standing in front of them.

The dial spun on its own, giving them only snippets of radio shows, music, and commercials. Controlled by some unknown force, the dial suddenly stopped and a female voice came through crystal clear.

_This is Vanessa Trevino with a special news report. A woman's body was discovered in an office in the depths of the subway. Reports indicate that the woman had the number 16121 carved into her chest. The police have not released the victim's name or any other details regarding the unfortunate circumstance. The subway has been cordoned off in certain areas and the trains have been stopped in lieu of the investigation. Listeners are urged to remain clear of the subway until further notice. We will keep you posted on any further developments on this breaking story._

Despite possibly running into whatever invisible force that had controlled the radio, Michael stepped past Trey and turned it off. He didn't want to hear anymore of the story. If he did, it would only solidify his perception that the murder was somehow connected to what was going on in South Ashfield Heights. And that they didn't move fast enough to save the murdered woman.

Michael turned to Trey and Heather and quickly concluded that they must have been thinking the same thing. Their expressions were uneasy but they met his gaze just the same.

"Hey, we don't know if that has anything to do with what's going on here," Trey said, offering Michael some kind of solace from blaming himself. Trey hadn't known Michael that long, but he felt like he knew Michael well enough to know what he was thinking in certain situations. And from the expression Michael returned with, Trey knew he was right.

Before waiting for Michael to argue, Heather broke in. "We have to hurry."

Michael checked his gun and made sure he had ammo and painkillers in the pocket of his wool coat. Heather followed suit, and Trey grabbed his crossbow. They strode from the apartment with Michael in the lead, ready for any surprises.

Michael was so focused on getting to Henry's apartment that he failed to see Frank step from around the corner. They collided hard enough for Michael to accidentally drop the key. It clattered to the wooden floor.

"Oh, sorry about that," Michael tried to reach for the key, but Frank was much closer. He held the key up and studied it skeptically. "We found that key," Michael quickly explained, knowing that Frank would recognize it as the lost key.

"What are you doing with this key? This is the key to room 302 that I thought was lost. How did you get a hold of it?" His expression was unforgiving and accusing.

"It's not what you think," Trey interjected.

Frank was ready to ask more questions, but a shout from down the hallway stopped him.

"Hey, superintendent!" Richard's hard, lined face was tense. "There's something weird going on in that apartment. You know, 302. Eileen Gavin's been hearing strange noises in there. What are you going to do about it?"

Frank glared at the teens then turned to Richard. "I'll go up there and investigate. I recently found the spare key to that apartment," Frank replied as he cast another reprimanding glance toward the teens. He didn't necessarily like Richard's tone, but his ire with the teens overshadowed his agitation with Richard for the time being.

Richard had moved into the apartment recently, but soon made himself known. Never scared to speak his mind and always doing so, Richard was well-known around the apartment complex, but not in a pleasant way. His harsh demeanor turned many people off and they simply avoided talking to him. Frank only spoke to him when he absolutely had to.

"Mr. Sunderland, I don't think that's a good idea," Heather said. Frank narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but Heather ignored it. "We came here because there's something wrong with that apartment and you know it. Henry Townsend isn't the one causing this, I think you are."

"Nonsense!" Frank snapped. "For all I know, you three are a part of whatever buffoonery is going on in that place. I'm going to get to the bottom of this once and for all."

"We're coming with you then," Trey said.

"Mr. Braintree, could you please watch these three and ensure they do not leave the premises? I think that the police will want to ask them a few questions."

"Police? Wait a minute. We're not criminals. You can't keep us here," Michael argued, his own anger beginning to boil.

Richard adjusted his pants and laid his hand on a revolver that Michael hadn't noticed before. "I'll make sure they don't go anywhere."

"Who the hell do you think you are?" Heather's voice was tinged with anger. "You don't know what's going on up there. We have to—"

Michael raised a hand to silence her. They had much more firepower than Richard, but it wouldn't solve anything if they got into a firefight in the middle of the hallway. Though it was tempting to at least shoot Braintree in the knee, Michael thought better of it.

"Fine," Michael acquiesced much to Trey and Heather's surprise. "We won't argue. We'll stay here with the assassin while you go investigate."

Richard looked at them smugly, obviously thinking that he had bullied them into doing what he said. Michael eyed him with disdain.

"Smart move," Richard commented, his hand still on his revolver.

Frank motioned in the direction of apartment 104. "Take them back to their apartment and do not allow them to leave. I'll call the police as soon as I open that door." Frank turned and marched down the hallway and up the stairs.

"You heard the man," Richard directed. "Get moving."

Michael and the others made brief eye contact, enough for each of them to know that they weren't just going to sit around and be held hostage by some random resident. They would make their move when the time was right. And within ten minutes, they would be back on their quest to find Henry Townsend and Christine Mitchell.

Notes:

Correction to my notes in the last chapter: I saw that many of you said that Frank and James are indeed father and son. Thanks for the info!

The dialogue between the characters in Silent Hill 4 is taken straight from the cutscenes in the game.

B.O.W. 121: Glad you are enjoying this story just as much as the other two. Let me know what you think of this chapter.

Literary Alchemist: Like I said before, good eye. For any of you that read my other stories, you will notice the name "Michael McNeal" used in most of them. Any stories that are in the same category have the same Michael McNeal persona.

Jammer69er: Yeah, it was a little difficult coming up with that puzzle, and it was a stretch for the characters to figure it out so quickly, but maybe they're just much smarter than I am. And yes, you will pull out your hair screaming at our protagonists. Inevitably, they will make more horror movie mistakes.

Rodarian: Christine will be coming back quite soon. I think she may be making her first appearance next chapter!

DarknessinShadows: Yeah, there have been a lack of good horror books lately, so writing this has filled the "afraid to go to sleep" void.

Schreiberjoe: Your words are too kind. As you see, it looks like the trio's trip to the apartment has been put on hold for the time being. But wait until you see how they get out of their current predicament.

Kyliemason: Hope you got some more ideas for your sketches from this chapter. It was a little light on the action, but it will definitely be picking up next chapter. I laughed when you wrote about getting in trouble with your art teacher. And don't worry, you'll see Christine in the next chapter.


	5. Plan of Attack

I.

Christine Mitchell ached all over. She couldn't pinpoint an exact location for her pain or any particular part of her body that hurt worse than any other. She was much worse off than when she awoke in an overturned car, which seemed like eons ago but was probably only mere hours before. Not only did pain ebb from every nook and cranny on her body, she felt nauseous from the thick, musty air that she reluctantly breathed.

Slowly, Christine pushed the pain out of her mind and focused on her surroundings. Her eyes fluttered open and to her surprise, she found herself in a room. Not dilapidated or strange and not a cell either, but a decent sized room. And she was actually lying atop a lumpy, worn bed.

This couldn't be right. The last thing she remembered was the bright flash of light as Michael McNeal recited an ancient spell which cast Samael back into the depths of Silent Hill. And she had been caught in the spell as well. It was a sacrifice that she decided to make in hopes that they would come and find her.

But where was she?

Christine only felt a sliver of reprieve from her pain as she threw her legs over the side of the bed then rose to her feet. She steadied herself, regained her balance, then gingerly crossed the room to the door. Christine opened it only a crack, half-expecting some grotesque amalgamation of a creature leaping from the darkness. But the hallway was empty and silent.

She slipped though the door, leaving it ajar instead of closing it and making more noise than was needed. Her boots thudded on the carpet as she crept through the hallway, waiting for something to leap out from a darkened doorway or something to crash in through a window at either end of the hallway, but she was disappointed. Christine made it to a set of wide stairs without incident, which only worried her more. Something was coming, and when it did, it wouldn't be kind.

The stairs creaked under Christine's weight, but held firmly. Reaching the bottom, Christine surveyed the area and figured that she was in the lobby of a hotel. She was sure that this was the hotel that she and Sean had decided to stay in before their trip. Several pictures adorned a pamphlet she had picked up and this particular area had been in those pictures.

At one time, Christine imagined that the hotel was a lavish place, a coveted resort for tourists. Expensive décor, wood finishing, and gold and marble fixtures could be seen around every turn. However, either due to old age or simply the nature of Silent Hill, the luxurious elements had lost their luster, giving the hotel a run-down look. It was now a dreary, musty, and dank place that probably served as a breeding ground for bacteria and other nasty creatures that may have found their home in the hotel.

Christine couldn't immediately remember the name of the hotel but recalled that it was across Toluca Lake.

She stealthily crossed the lobby area, remotely aware that something was watching her from the shadows. But every time she looked toward a different corner, she would get the feeling that she just missed something that was there only moments before. Christine finally stopped at the reception desk, determined to find some indication of why she was there.

A large book sat in the center of the desk, with exquisite writing inked across the open pages. Upon closer inspection, Christine saw that names had been written in the book. Names that were familiar, which unsettled her. Harry Mason, Cybil Bennett, Lisa Garland, Michael Kaufmann, James Sunderland, Eddie Dumbrowski, Angela Orosco, Douglas Cartland, Michael McNeal, Christine Mitchell, Trey Harrison, Tina Grey, Henry Townsend, and Eileen Galvin. There were more names written above, below, and in between those names, but every time she tried to read them, she would lose focus.

Even with the ones she could read, Christine wasn't familiar with about half of them. But seeing her name along with Heather, Michael, and Trey sent a chill down her spine. But why were all these names here in the first place?

Next to some of them, she saw a check in date and a check out date. Harry, Cybil, and Douglas all had such an annotation next to them. But some of the others had a red line scratched through them. The only ones that had nothing were Michael, Heather, Trey, Henry, Eileen, and hers.

Christine deduced that this was some kind of sick log of people that encountered the less-than-friendly version of Silent Hill. Those with check out dates must be those that have successfully escaped. Those with a red line must not have been so lucky. And those without a date were still in Silent Hill. And that meant that somehow, Michael, Heather, Trey, and Henry were still entangled with Silent Hill. She saw it as both a good thing and a bad thing.

The good: it meant that they could find each other and escape this hell once and for all.

The bad: it meant that her sacrifice and the banishing of Samael did nothing to destroy Silent Hill.

She flipped a page and saw a note scribbled haphazardly, disrupting the fancy layout.

_There is a hole in the basement._

Christine read through it again, unsure of what she was supposed to do with that information. She expected a strange riddle or cryptic puzzle, but not such a plain and direct statement. Besides, where did the hole lead? Why was there a hole in the basement? Who put it there? Who wrote this note? Were they waiting for her in the basement or had they already gone through the hole? She was filled with more questions than answers, and as she read through it again, began to feel a little uneasy.

There wasn't anything menacing about the note, but there was something that unnerved her. Christine shut the book, keeping in mind that despite her feelings, she may have to investigate the basement to find the hole.

She had only taken a few steps away from the desk but halted abruptly when she heard voices coming from somewhere far off. As she listened, they grew closer and clearer. Whoever was in the hotel was heading right for Christine. And chances were they weren't friendly.

She had to get a weapon. Then she had to hide.

Christine rifled through the drawers, her heart nearly pounding out of her chest. She knew not to trust the oncoming voices, and she wanted to be well-prepared in the event that they did happen upon her.

In the final, bottom-left drawer, Christine found what she was looking for. A gun. And bullets.

She slipped the packet of bullets into her jeans pocket and held the gun tightly. She really didn't know how to use a gun, but Michael and Heather made it look fairly easy. Just aim and fire. It seemed simple enough.

Ducking behind the reception desk, Christine quieted her breathing to a hushed puff every so often, just as the voices became audible then floated near the desk.

"The predictions of Gyromancy have never steered us astray. Why do you oppose destiny?" a cracking, elderly female's voice said. She sounded quite old, and her voice quivered, yet demanded attention and respect.

The other voice belonged to a younger man. "Listen, this whole thing has gotten out of hand. First Claudia and now some murderer? Shouldn't we try to find Heather?"

"Her strength has waned and faltered. Now, those that seek petty desire have attained the power of darkness. We have no need to find her. The darkness has already sought her out. And she is not alone. There are others."

Christine felt a trickle of cold sweat run down her back. The elderly woman knew way too much to simply be a benign grandmother looking for little Red-Riding Hood. The old woman was definitely mixed up in something sinister and the man she was with probably was too. And if they found her, Christine was sure that they didn't have anything good planned for her.

There was an uncomfortable pause in the conversation. Christine imagined that the old woman had mentioned "the others" with Heather because somehow Christine had given away her hiding place. Right now, the old woman glided to the reception desk with the intention of snatching Christine by her auburn hair and yanking her into view. Then the man would cackle and pull out some kind of weapon and that would be the end of Christine's story.

Instead, the man broke the silence. "So the fact that Heather has friends...is that a good thing?"

Christine imagined the woman looking thoughtfully into the air. "We shall see," she replied.

Two pairs of footsteps thudded away from the lobby, and Christine realized she was holding her breath as the two strangers retreated. She waited a good amount of time before letting out a sigh of relief. She then took a deep breath and tried to piece together what she had just heard. But their conversation had been cryptic and sketchy at best, so she discarded the idea of racking her brain.

Relieved that she wasn't found, Christine realized they were the first people she had kind of encountered since being in Silent Hill. But she didn't trust them. However, Christine deduced that they may know something about how to escape Silent Hill and how to find her friends. So, the only logical thing to do was to follow them.

Christine peeked over the top of the reception desk, surveying the lobby area for any sign of movement, both overt and subtle. Satisfied she was alone again, Christine hopped over the top of the desk and headed in the direction she presumed the voices had gone.

II.

"This is the superintendent! Are you in there, Henry?" Frank pounded on the door, hoping to elicit some type of response from the apartment.

Henry wrenched on the doorknob then pounded his fists on the door. "Help me! There's something wrong with this room!" He felt panic rising, but he didn't care. He had to get out of this apartment and Frank was his last hope. Henry continued with his pleas and violent banging. "Help me! Help! Let me out of here!"

Frank peered into the peephole, hoping to get a glance of a moving shadow or something that would indicate a presence in the apartment. When he saw nothing, Frank called, "Is anybody home?"

"What's going on here?" Henry said aloud. A sting of disappointment hit him, and Henry let his fists fall to his sides. Frank couldn't hear him. No one could hear him. Somehow the entire apartment had been sealed off from any outside contact, and Henry was its prisoner.

However, as Henry started to lose hope, the jingle of keys renewed the thought that Frank might actually come through. Frank fumbled with the ring of keys then studied each key before finding the suitable one. Frank inserted the key, and Henry's heart skipped a beat.

The doorknob wiggled a few times, and the keys jingled but Frank frowned. "That's strange. It's the right key." Frank distinctly remembered making this spare key and he tested it to make sure it worked. But now, the key simply didn't work. Frank stared at the door and said to himself, "I'm sure I heard something in there." Then, Frank's expression changed like he had suddenly realized something. "Yeah, that sound...it's the same one as back then."

Henry shook his head. Frank couldn't hear his pounding and screaming, yet somehow, he heard some inaudible noise that didn't help Henry a damn bit.

Frank gave the door another suspicious glance, sure that something was going on in that apartment. And maybe it just wasn't as simple as a strange tenant locking themselves in their apartment making strange noises. After all, there was the incident from before...

He shook off the thought violently, rebuking the thought of anything but something rational and real happening in that apartment. And somehow, those teens were connected to it. Frank decided that he would question them one more time then turn them over to the police.

III.

Richard glared at the teens while brandishing his revolver. "Now, let's make ourselves cozy. Lead the way to your apartment."

Michael glanced at the others, hoping that they didn't let their emotions completely take over. It would have been easy to pull out their weapons and have an old school shootout right there in the hallway. But there were innocent residents that could get caught in the crossfire. Plus, Michael was sure none of them felt quite comfortable firing on another human being. Monsters were a completely different story. Still, Michael was sure that if it came down to defending his or his friends' lives, he would have no problem taking Richard down.

Heather and Trey made eye contact, but said nothing as they led the procession to apartment 104. Michael fell in behind them and Richard brought up the rear.

Richard ushered them into the apartment then closed the door. "Take a seat and don't move."

Michael sat on the couch, Trey plopped on the edge of the easy chair, and Heather made a seat out of the chest next to the television.

Michael expected to have monsters to deal with. Unholy creatures that wanted nothing more than to snack on the flesh of tasty teens. Yet, here he was, dealing with a hired thug that now held them at gunpoint in a random apartment.

Michael glared at Richard again, who returned with an unemotional gaze.

"Why are you holding us here? You don't even know why Frank asked you to keep us here, do you?" Heather drew Richard's attention. The anger in her voice hadn't died down from earlier.

Richard aimed his gun at Heather. "I've killed kids younger than you for less. Now, shut your damn mouth. When Frank gets back, we'll decide what to do from there."

"Hey, are you through waving your gun at us like your some kind of bad ass?" Trey shot. He scowled at Richard, hoping to take the tension off of Heather. It worked.

Richard pointed the gun at him. "Your smart-ass mouth won't get you anything but another hole in the head, kid. I don't like children anyways. And I have no qualms about throwing your rotting bodies in Toluca Lake. Now this is the last time I'm going to say it, shut up!"

"I have to go to the bathroom," Michael announced. A bullet hole appeared in the pillow next to him. It was then that Michael realized Richard had a silencer on the revolver. So it was quite feasible that they were dealing with some kind of hit man or worse. And he wasn't afraid to use his revolver either.

Richard grinned sadistically. "Now do you still have to go, or can you shut up and hold it?"

Michael returned with a defiant look. Did Richard really think that they were scared of him? They had battled hellish monsters, crazed nurses, and king demons from hell. After all that, some self-appointed tough guy really didn't fall into the realm of being scary or intimidating.

"Yes, I still have to go to the bathroom. Do you think my piss is just going to vanish because you shot your gun?"

Michael knew it was uncharacteristic for him to ever talk to anyone with that much attitude pouring from his voice, but he hoped Heather and Trey caught the change. It was a sign that Michael was making his move. He just hoped that Heather and Trey were ready.

"Listen, I'm getting real sick of your mouth—"

"Do you really want to explain to Frank and to the police why you have three dead bodies in an apartment and a piss stain on this couch? When Mr. Sunderland does open the apartment, Henry will be looking for us, and he'll know that you shot us. Now, all I want to do is go to the damn bathroom. Is that to much to ask?"

Michael was taking a calculated risk. At this point, he was either going to end up shot in the chest, or Richard would let him go to the bathroom. If Richard let him go, Michael was ready to put his own plan into action. Michael counted on the huge chance that Richard wouldn't shoot him. But he didn't expect to be assaulted.

"You little punk," Richard seethed. He stood and advanced on Michael, his dark brown eyes raging with fury. He raised the gun with every intention of hitting Michael across the face. However, he had underestimated his hostages.

Without a word, Michael bolted up, grabbed the hand with the revolver in it, and braced himself against the couch. He quickly yanked Richard toward him then shifted his weight forward. They toppled over the coffee table and rolled twice across the floor.

As Michael and Richard struggled for control of the gun, Trey leaped from his seat and dove for the gun as well. The three of them fumbled for control, yet it eluded all three of them as they became entangled with their goal.

"You little shit!" Richard said between gritted teeth. He loosened his other hand and planted a solid punch on Michael's jaw. The hit threw him off balance, and he tumbled into the coffee table with a loud thud. Stunned, Michael was out of the picture for the moment.

Trey continued to struggle for the gun, but Richard rolled backwards and grabbed Trey's head with his legs and tossed him over his body. Trey grunted as he hit the floor hard.

Richard was going to shoot them, Heather was sure of it. She moved quickly, almost a blur, and successfully kicked the gun out of Richard's hand. As it slid across the floor, Heather made a dash for it, intending on keeping it out of his reach, but Richard ignored the pain in his hand and grasped her ankle. She hit the floor hard, but rolled onto her back and planted a heel right in Richard's face. His grip loosened and Heather scrambled away from him. As Richard scrambled to pursue Heather, Michael planted a punch right in his jaw. Trey grabbed Richard's legs and held tightly, despite Richard's frantic gyrations to shake him off.

Michael wrestled with Richard more, aware that he could have just pulled his gun on him, but opted to fight him hand-to-hand strictly to humiliate Richard like he had planned to do to Michael. Despite the rushing adrenaline and anger, Michael found himself losing the tussle. Richard was stranger than he looked, and had probably done this many more times than Michael had.

However, Michael managed to grab Richard's collar and yank him into a sitting position. A slight smile crossed Michael's face and Richard gritted his teeth.

"I'm going to kill you," he seethed.

"Talk to me after you wake up," Michael replied.

Richard noticed Michael gazing at something over Richard's shoulder. He turned partway to find Heather towering over him with a skillet raised high above her head. In the next second, it crashed down with a loud clang, and Richard crumpled to the ground.

Michael gave a huge sigh of relief as he let Richard's body fall to the floor. He leaned back against the coffee table and breathed a huge sigh of relief. Trey threw Richard's legs to the side and spread his arms and legs as he lay on the floor. Heather lifted the pan again, ready to bop Richard on the head again.

"Whoa, whoa! I think he's out," Michael said, holding out his hand to stop her.

"You never can be too sure with nuts like this," Heather reasoned.

Trey rolled onto his stomach and grinned. "Hit him again."

Michael shook his head. Though Michael really wanted to see Richard hit over the head again, he didn't want to risk killing him. He was okay with the concussion though. Now that Richard was out, they had to figure out how to keep him out of their way until they had found Henry.

Michael directed to Trey, "See if there's any rope in that chest. We'll tie him up and put him in the bathroom until we figure out what Frank is up to and get to Henry."

Trey rolled onto his stomach and crawled over to the chest. It opened with a creak and Trey waved away a cloud of dust. Peering inside, Trey fished around until he pulled out several pieces of rope, each about three feet long.

"Are you sure you don't want me to hit him again?" Heather looked at Richard's unmoving body then approvingly at the skillet.

"Just put the pan down, woman," Trey joked as he tossed Michael some of the rope. Trey and Michael immediately went to work, securing his ankles and wrists with haphazardly tied knots. Michael and Trey both hoped they were secure enough to keep Richard from wiggling loose. There was no telling what he would do when he found them then.

As they tied Richard up, a glint caught Heather's eye. She moved the coffee table to find a key, similar to the key to apartment 302. "I think he dropped his key," Heather said as she studied it. "Apartment 307. If I remember right, it should be directly across from Henry's apartment."

"Good. Maybe we'll be able to look into Henry's apartment and see what's going on in there," Michael said.

"So what are we going to do with him?" Trey asked. He had already forgotten the plan.

"Trey, we're going to lock this guy in the bathroom. Maybe we should lock you in there too."

"That's not funny. I hate bathrooms."

Michael gave a half-laugh and Heather chuckled slightly.

Michael grasped Richard's limp arms and Trey his legs. On three, they lifted and quickly realized how heavy an unconscious person could be. Heather grabbed at the middle, but it was awkward and they ended up stumbling down the hallway. Michael knew that Richard would wake up with a few extra bruises from the walls and doorway.

Still struggling, the teens finally dumped him in the tub and took a breath of relief.

"Whew, that guy needs to go on a diet," Trey said.

Michael checked the ropes again, still leery of the knots, but sure that it would take Richard some time to struggle out of the ropes. He looked to the right and noticed something odd.

Upon closer inspection of the faucet, he asked, "What is wrong with the water in this place?" Michael studied droplets of liquid dripping from the tub faucet. The liquid should have been water, yet the thick, black syrup obviously was coming from the pipe behind the wall.

Trey looked over his shoulder and scrunched his face at the sight. "Maybe a pipe broke or something. Richard can look forward to stains on his khakis. Let's get out of here before he wakes up."

Michael rose, turned, and followed Trey and Heather out of the bathroom. He closed the door behind him and pressed a knob on the door, locking it.

IV.

After the door closed, the liquid dripped twice more then became a steady flow. It oozed over Richard's legs and shoes, leaving behind a rancid residue and dark stains. Instead of draining, the tub began to fill with the syrup, which now streamed from the faucet. In the next second, the water was gushing.

Richard stirred and jerked himself awake, surprised by how lethargic his body felt and the tension on his wrists and ankles. He quickly deduced he was in the bathroom from the tiled walls and showerhead. But as he glanced at the faucet, his eyes grew wide as the black gummy liquid now filling the tub.

Richard struggled with the ropes around his wrists for a moment, but those brats had tied the knots too tightly. There was no way he was just going to ease his hands out of the rope. But he couldn't get himself to an upright position and the liquid was now to his chest, the sour odor burning his nostrils and windpipe.

"Help!" Richard yelled, still trying to thrash about, but the dense liquid kept him from moving much at all. And now, it was to his chin.

He gave one last scream before his mouth was overcome with the liquid. Then, the faucet turned off.

Richard stood completely still, wondering how the faucet turned off and more importantly, what this black liquid was. It sure as hell wasn't water.

Then there was a disturbance in the liquid. At first, Richard thought he had slipped or had moved and caused a ripple. Then something emerged from the liquid. A hand. Then two. Then eight. All of them emerged from the water as far as the wrist then stopped.

Richard's heart pounded out of his chest. This wasn't natural. He must be dreaming. Yet he could smell the foul stench of the liquid, feel its slimy consistency caressing his entire body, and taste the bitter sting of the slime. And now the hands stood completely still, surrounding him, having emerged from the mysterious depths of the tub.

Before Richard could react, the hands moved simultaneously, grabbed his limbs, and snatched him into the liquid in only a moment. The liquid then drained quickly, leaving behind no residue and no trace of Richard ever being there.

Notes:

This is Christine Mitchell's fist appearance in the story. She threw herself onto Samael to allow Michael to cast a spell that would send the demon back into the darkness. However, she was caught in the spell as well and vanished along with the monster.

B.O.W. 121: I'm really glad that you're keeping up with the story and loving every minute of it. I'm also glad that I accurately captured Richard's character in the story. He didn't strike me as a pleasant person to begin with and his interaction with the teens solidifies that. But I guess he got what he deserved in the end.

Schreiberjoe: I did my best to use the dialogue and retell the cutscenes that were important to this story. And I also sought to fill in some of the gaps that were overlooked in S.H. 4. Well, this chapter had a lot more of the trio and stepped up the action quite a bit. I hope that made up for the lack of presence from the last chapter. And I agree, both Frank and Richard are assholes. lol.

Kyliemason: Many of the scenes with characters from S.H. 4 were taken from cutscenes in the game. Hopefully, they're well-written so even if you haven't played all the way through the game, you'll be able to follow the story for the most part. Heather and Trey are my favorite characters to write because of their difference in personality. Heather's a bit stand-offish and brusque, while Trey is the comic relief mixed with a tough guy. Honestly, I love writing the dialogue between the three of them just to see how it comes out. And Christine is back! But she's in her own predicament with some awfully familiar characters. You'll be seeing quite a lot of Christine in the upcoming chapters.

Rodarian: Thanks again for the review. You'll be seeing more scenes merging and a little change in dialogue between some of the characters as well. As you see, Richard is up to no good and it just might be his undoing. As far as Christine goes, here she is, alive and well.


	6. Putting the Pieces Together

I.

_This is Vanessa Trevino with another special news report. In a forest near Silent Hill, the burned corpse of a thirty-year-old male was discovered. The police again have not released the victim's name or any other details. However, it has been ruled a homicide and it is speculated that this murder is related to the murder earlier today of a young woman in the subway. Just like the woman, numbers were found carved into the man's body. Police are speculating that there is a copycat killer loose, emulating the killing spree of Walter Sullivan ten years ago. We will keep all of you posted as new developments arise._

As Michael, Heather, and Trey headed from the bathroom to the front door, the radio again came to life, the news broadcast blaring from the small speakers. Annoyed, Michael stormed across the room and snapped the radio off. He stood there, waiting for the radio to turn itself back on, but it never did.

"Another damn murder," Michael tensely stated. "We've got to find Henry."

Trey leaned against the counter with a look of consternation etched into his face. "I don't understand what these murders have to do with Henry being trapped in his apartment."

Heather replied, "I see what Michael's saying. I don't think it's a coincidence that all these things are happening right now. And the strange guy from earlier has got to be mixed up in all this."

Michael strode back to the kitchen and sighed annoyingly. "There are just too many holes in this situation right now. I don't know why Mr. Sunderland is acting so strange, but I'm sure that he knows something. What would someone like Richard Braintree be doing in this apartment complex? He's obviously dangerous and has something to hide. People are being murdered and we haven't the slightest idea why. Plus, Henry's trapped in his apartment. There's no way I can even begin to logically connect all those situations."

Trey replied, "Well, let's just go with what we know. Both of the reports we heard on the radio talked about numbers being carved into the victims' chest."

"That's right. 16121 and 17121 if I remember right," Michael added.

"This might seem weird, but maybe the numbers are some kind of counting system for the murderer. Though there were only two victims, they begin with sixteen and seventeen," Trey suggested.

Michael thought for a moment. Though it was a bit of a stretch at this point, it made sense. There really wasn't any other explanation for the numbers aside from being some kind odd numbering system. But if that was the case, then who were the other fifteen victims? And how high was the murderer planning on going? Michael shuddered as he thought of masses of people being killed and numbers being carved into their chests.

"Wait," Heather said, "the report said something about murders ten years ago by Walter Sullivan. Maybe we can find some kind of newspaper clippings or something that would tell us more about it."

"A murdering spree that's spanned over an entire decade. Just what is going on here?" Michael wondered aloud. He then said, "We'll find Henry. If we can't, our best bet may be to go back to Silent Hill and figure out exactly where this guy was murdered," Michael said.

"Going back to Silent Hill," Heather trailed off.

"I know that it's probably the worst idea I've come up with, but we really don't have a choice. We don't know what the hell is going on here. And the only logical place to start was here, but it seems we're being drawn back to Silent Hill."

"Before we do that, why don't we talk to Mr. Sunderland?" Trey suggested. "He's a bit of a freak, but maybe he'll tell us something we can use."

"And I can talk to Eileen Galvin. I think she may have some info that may help us find Henry," Heather added.

"That works. Trey and I will check out Richard's apartment, while you see if Eileen knows anything. Then we'll all talk to Mr. Sunderland. I really don't like the idea of us splitting up, but I think you'll be okay with his neighbor. We haven't seen a monster yet, so I think we're safe for now."

"Hey, what about old dude in the tub? Maybe we should check on him too," Trey suggested.

"No, he's fine," Michael replied with a huge amount of disregard. If Richard was so tough, then he wouldn't have any problem dealing with a cramped tub. Maybe it would teach him not to underestimate people that he didn't know. "Besides," Michael added, "he'll wake up soon with a huge headache and probably a little angry that some kids beat him. I'd rather not be around when that happens. We'll just call the police when we get back...after we find out exactly what Mr. Braintree was up to."

In his mind, Michael knew without a doubt that the murders were connected with whatever situation they were facing in this apartment building. And Henry was somehow involved as well. He felt safe to assume that Henry wasn't doing the killing though. More likely than not, the culprit was the strange man they had seen at the gas station. He was Walter Sullivan.

However, regardless of how right he thought he was, Michael wanted proof. And when they had that proof, Michael was sure that somehow, it would lead to both Henry and Christine.

II.

Trey opened the door slowly with his crossbow aimed into the dim living room. The apartment had the same layout as the one they were staying in, so Trey knew to immediately snap to the left to cover the kitchen. Two more steps then cover the hallway. Swing back and cover the living room again.

Sure that it was clear, Trey nodded to Michael, who covered him from the door. Michael swooped into the room and closed the door quietly. He opened the laundry room door, found no one, and closed it back. He took the lead down the hallway and checked out the bedroom and bathroom, both without incident.

Returning to the living room, Michael noticed how still and stuffy the apartment was. Richard seemed to like the apartment warm. He noticed that dark clouds had formed overhead, casting a grey light into the room, which only created more shadows. Michael thought about turning on a light, but with it being so dark, it may attract unwanted attention. As creepy as it was to stay in the dark, Michael knew it was the best option for now.

Trey crossed the room and grabbed a pair of binoculars, holding them up for Michael to see. "Looks like Richard was a regular old peeping tom. You can see into a lot of windows from here."

Michael took a look and was surprised at how many people actually had their blinds and curtains open. At just a glance, he could see people watching television, cooking, or just moving back and forth through the apartment on their own household mission.

"Let me take a look," Michael accepted the binoculars, perched at the window, and focused the lens right at Henry's window. At first, he couldn't see anything. But after zooming in, he could see Henry's living room and kitchen. He moved to the other windows. A closet, bed, and desk were in that room. Probably the bedroom. Michael went back to the living room and scanned it once more. That's when he saw the door.

The door appeared to have been chained from the inside. It seemed almost ludicrous and impossible that someone wouldn't have heard Henry securing all the bolts and chains to the door. And there was something else scribbled on the door.

Zooming in again, Michael saw the note.

_Don't go out. Walter._

"What the hell?" Michael murmured. Walter. Walter Sullivan. The murderer. The one that had somehow made his presence known to Trey, Heather, and Michael near simultaneously. The one who was somehow in the center of all this evil. Walter was inside of Henry's apartment and had somehow imprisoned him. Then Walter had slipped out, leaving Henry trapped.

It wasn't a stretch for Michael to presume Walter had somehow teleported in and put of Henry's apartment. Though it seemed weird to think about, it was the only explanation for the note on the door. And since Walter had teleported to the gas station, it would have been child's play to do the same right here in this apartment building. But Michael was assuming Walter was here in the apartment building.

Just that thought alone sent a chill down Michael's back. Walter could be stalking them and watching them and they wouldn't even know it. He could be huddled in an apartment, contemplating his next murder while trying to figure out a new way to torture Henry. Disturbing.

"Stop hogging those, and let me see," Trey grabbed at the binoculars, breaking Michael out of his thoughts.

Michael pulled them back and held the binoculars out of his reach. "I'm not hogging them."

Trey frowned. "Then let me see!"

"I'm not done yet."

"Hogging!"

"Not hogging."

Trey moved too quickly for Michael to react and suddenly had the binoculars in his hand.

Michael shook his head. Here they were in the middle of some life and death situation with horrific creatures lurking somewhere beneath it all, and here they were, arguing over binoculars. Michael gave a half-laugh.

Trey shook his head. "Just because you think you're the leader, doesn't mean you get to hog the binoculars." He propped himself on his elbows and set his face behind the binoculars, focusing in on Henry's windows.

"But I'm _not_ the leader," Michael sighed. It was a constant argument that they had been having since they first got into this situation. "Anyways, make sure you look at the door."

After a few moments, Trey handed the binoculars back to Michael. "That's pretty weird, especially the note." Trey thought for a moment then said, "So this Walter guy is murdering _and_ kidnapping people? This guy must be crazy."

"But still, why would a murderer go through the trouble of trapping Henry in his apartment? And if this has anything to do with what happened in Silent Hill before, I don't see how they relate."

Trey shrugged, "The only thing I could think of is that Walter intends to do something to Henry and is saving it for just the right moment."

_Like a rat kept in a cage until the day it's fed to the snake_, Michael grimly thought.

Trey continued, "It doesn't look like he's in there now though. And that's the only way out of his apartment."

Michael frowned. "If Henry's not in there, where is he?"

III.

The ground was unforgiving as Richard Braintree fell from the sky then crashed onto the concrete. Instant pain shot through his entire body as he groaned. But it was the pain in his head that won out, erupting into a full-blown, pounding headache.

"Ouch!" he complained as he sat up. He gazed around and suddenly felt dizzy and confused. "Dammit. Where the hell am I?"

Before he could fully take in his surroundings, a figure approached him. There was no telling what this shadowy figure's intentions were, especially after those weird hands had pulled him into some kind of black void. There was something odd going on, and Richard was determined not to be caught by surprise again. He pointed his revolver and was a hair away from pulling the trigger when the figure came into a hazy light shining from above.

Richard eyed Henry suspiciously then gave a half-smile, lowering his weapon. "Ah, you're a real person. Hey, you're the guy that lives across from me."

"Yeah, my name's Henry."

"I'm Richard Braintree from 207. What the hell's happened to us?" Richard rubbed the back of his head. "Those damn kids and this freaky place," Richard mumbled more to himself than to Henry. "But if you're here too then there must be something wrong with the whole apartment building. That must explain what happened to that other guy too," Richard trailed off, lost in his own thoughts.

Henry felt a stab of frigid fear pierce through him. "What other guy?"

Richard narrowed his eyes skeptically. He thought everyone knew about Joseph Schreiber. Then again, Henry didn't strike him as one to be overly aware of what was going on around him, let alone something from the past.

He answered, "The guy that lived in 302 before you. A journalist. He disappeared one day. He got pretty crazy towards the end. Shut himself up in his apartment and wouldn't come out."

_Or maybe he was trapped just like I am_, Henry thought. Since Richard was here, he thought about asking him just how much he knew about Walter Sullivan and the apartment building. But before he could, Richard began to walk away.

"Anyway, I'm getting the hell out of here. And you should too, if you know what's good for you."

Despite Richard's comment being intended as helpful advice, Henry couldn't help but feel that there was something threatening in the statement. Henry wanted the company of another person at lest until he figured out what was going on, but Richard wasn't the type that he wanted to tag along with. There was something inherently dubious about Richard and Henry didn't necessarily care for it.

As an afterthought, Henry added, "Wait. Watch out for that kid." But Richard had already entered a door and closed it behind him.

Henry rubbed the back of his neck in frustration. At this point, he had seen the after-effects of three murders: Cynthia Velasquez, Jasper Gein, and Andrew DeSalva. All three of them had been brutally murdered. And all three had numbers somehow etched permanently to their corpses. Andrew had 18121.

The numbers were increasing in order: 16, 17, and now 18. And somehow, Walter Sullivan was at the middle of all this. But Andrew said the little boy that he kept running into was Walter Sullivan. There was no way that little boy was brutally murdering all these people. But Henry didn't completely discount it.

He hoped Richard heeded his warning and stayed away from that boy, Walter Sullivan. But Henry already knew that Richard didn't seem to be the type to listen to anyone.

Henry pressed forward, determined to stop the next murder. And if his suspicions were right, Richard was going to be the next victim, doomed to die at the hands of Walter Sullivan.

IV.

Christine crept from doorway to doorway, keeping herself shrouded in deep shadows. She stayed a good distance away from the old woman and younger man that she had overheard talking only moments ago. Following them proved to be much more difficult than she originally thought it would. Despite the elderly woman's hunch, and her long dress, she moved purposefully, nearly gliding across the floor. Even the guy had to lengthen his stride to keep up with her.

She moved as quickly and silently as her body would let her, and she was careful not to walk too hard on the hardwood floors and rugs. Though strange noises emanated from behind room doors, Christine stifled any type of gasp or sound of surprise, though her blood raced and adrenaline pumped.

The mysterious duo took a sharp turn to the right, and Christine heard a door creak open.

She carefully picked up her pace, afraid that she had lost her opportunity to garner any information from the conversation between the two. But when she turned the corner, she saw that they had simply gone into a room but left the door slightly open.

Christine ducked out of sight, afraid that one of them would spy her. But after a few minutes without hearing thudding footsteps advancing toward her, she ventured closer, turning their hushed whispers into audible yet muffled conversation.

They had retreated somewhere inside of the hotel room, far from the door. The only way Christine was going to hear anything was to actually enter the room.

_Bad idea_, she screamed to herself. Christine could imagine slipping into the room, only to have fallen into a trap. Again, the woman would cackle loudly while the man pulled out a bladed weapon. That would be the end of her story.

Still, she had to take a chance. That was the only way she was going to figure out how to get out of Silent Hill and find her friends. Despite all her instincts telling her not to, Christine slipped through the crack in the door, keeping her back pressed to the wall. The conversation swelled as she neared the bedroom. She stopped and listened, careful not to make any sudden, noisy movements.

"As I have said before, this was not foretold. I shall not take responsibility for this," the old woman snapped. Christine heard heavy footsteps cross the room, probably belonging to the man, like he had just drawn closer to the woman.

"Well, I can't blame Claudia. She's dead. And whatever came out of her is still lurking out there. This isn't what I signed up for."

The woman smugly replied, "But this is the result of your own heart's desire. You are just like these other weak-minded fools. You can't see past your own base desires. You disgust me."

A chuckled from the man erupted. He then said, "Let's not be dramatic, okay? I said I would help you, didn't I? Besides, I owe you for patching me up. Getting killed isn't usually my style."

The old woman shuffled across the room. "The visions of Gyromancy have shown me the way. We must remove the tainted heart of the unjust. Only then will the darkness be returned to its proper existence. We must stay strong and hold fast to our beliefs. You do believe, don't you?"

The edge in the woman's voice was unmistakable. Though they were paired up, Christine wasn't sure that the woman and man were playing for the same team, which was a good thing. But as Christine pondered over their relationship, she began to wonder how many different sides there were to this whole situation. It wasn't as clean cut as the good guys and the bad guys anymore.

The man smirked. "I believe that I want all this craziness to end. This has gone on way too long for my tastes. Besides, we can—"

"Shh!" the old woman snapped.

Christine froze. She should have known the old woman would have some sort of extrasensory perception or something that would alert her to Christine's presence. She had taken too great of a chance by brazenly eavesdropping right outside the door. Christine cursed herself, but didn't linger. She glanced about, while stepping quietly but hurriedly back toward the front of the hotel suite.

She slipped back through the door as racing footsteps pursued her.

There was no time, she had to run.

Christine took off, but immediately realized she had gone the wrong way. Whatever. She would figure it out later. Christine dashed down the hallway, took a sharp right, clambered down some stairs, and took another right. Ahead of her, she spotted a door, which equaled easy getaway. She rushed through it, thankful it was unlocked, and closed the door behind her.

She listened at the door, but didn't hear anyone chasing her. Christine had lost the old woman and strange man. Or at least put enough distance between them to hide herself effectively.

Regardless, Christine was alone again, which she didn't mind at this point.

When her eyes had fully adjusted to the dark, she gazed around and found that she was in a small eatery. Though dark, it seemed like it would have been quaint place to grab something to eat. Several tables and chairs were at the center, while booths lined the far and right walls. An empty buffet table stood to the left and the door to the kitchen was in the far left corner. She knew that she and Sean would have eaten here often.

Thinking of Sean sent a pang of anguish coursing through her. Through all this, she realized that she had just continued to move forward without really thinking about Sean being dead. The car accident. The blood. The gurgling sound of Sean drowning in his own blood. She clenched her eyes shut, trying to erase the vivid pictures in her mind.

A chair slid across the floor.

Christine's eyes shot open and she peered through the darkness, trying to figure out if she was truly alone. She held the gun timidly, but was determined to use it if she needed to.

There was nothing obviously shambling toward her in the room, but the air felt heavy. Evil.

Christine could sense that something was hiding just out of sight. And it was coming for her.

Notes:

Kyliemason: Yes, Christine is back and right in the thick of things. I'm glad you liked the previous chapter. I was trying out some different things with the last chapter, so I'm glad you noticed and liked the small aspects of it. Let me know what you think of this chapter.

Jammer69er: Richard is definitely one to be hated in my story. I wanted to make his character have a little more play in the story, unlike in Silent Hill 4. From your review, I take it I succeeded.

Rodarian: Thanks for reviewing! I will definitely be adding in some more surprises as the story goes along.

Lemex: I'm glad you reviewed and even more glad you liked the story.

Richard B. Sampson Jr.: The hotel registry actually came from putting Christine into Lakeside Hotel, which was an important location in Silent Hill 2. Richard is quickly approaching a not-too-kind meeting with Walter and chances are, it won't be pretty.

DarknessinShadows: No matter when you review, I appreciate it. It's been awhile, but I've finally updated.

Schreiberjoe: You are proving to be a little two smart for your own good. I won't reveal the names of the two individuals Christine is following, but damn, you're good. Glad you like the different aspect of the chapter. I hope to continue to tie in important parts of the game, weaving back and forth between events in SH4 and SH: Lost Souls 2.

FallenAngelx3: Nice and long, huh? There's a lot more where that came from...


	7. Deeper and Deeper

I.

It was the second time today that Eileen felt like she was being watched.

She kept imagining a leering pervert with binoculars spying on her from across the way. But every time she looked outside, Eileen wasn't able to find anyone doing any such thing. Still, she had closed her drapes after the first time. Now, the same eerie feeling had crept over her again, but this time, it didn't make any sense.

There was no other place that someone could be watching her from. Eileen then imagined a psychotic maniac who had drilled a hole in the wall and was watching her at will. Eileen shook her head and pushed back from her desk. Her imagination was getting the best of her yet again.

Her mother and father had always enjoyed her vivid stories and make-believe fantasies, but they always reminded her to keep it under control. And that she didn't get to wound up in a fantasy world. Though her stories eventually tapered off and she calmed down, her imagination never stopped working. If anything, it got more lively and vivid, which is why the thought of a watcher lurking behind the walls was frightening. And which is why the noises next door scared her to death.

The noises were strange enough as it was without her added images of what was causing the noises. They weren't distinct crashes or bumps. In all honesty, Eileen couldn't really describe the noises at all. They were simply there, changing in intensity every so often.

So on top of weird noises, Eileen had a stalker. Great.

The rapping at her door jarred Eileen out of her thoughts. When she answered the door, she was surprised to see the girl from earlier. She was with two guys and had something to do with Henry. All three of them were postured behind Frank Sunderland as he tried the door. Eileen realized her first impression of Heather was far from correct. Up close, Heather didn't seem as dangerous as Eileen had first thought.

Eileen smiled nervously. "You're Henry's friend, aren't you?" Eileen knew that she was making a leap at assuming Heather was actually friends with Henry, but when the girl didn't argue, she relaxed.

Heather replied, "I know it's kind of weird for me to stop by like this, but I wanted to talk to you about Henry."

Eileen stepped aside cordially, motioning for Heather to enter the apartment. As Heather stepped through the doorway, a fresh smell of lilacs swept around her. A tall bouquet sat in the corner on an end table, in between a couch and loveseat.

At first glance, Heather was impressed with the apartment. Heather thought that Eileen had a keen sense of style, choosing more modern furniture designs, which incorporated sharper edges, solid pastel colors, and earthy materials like iron and dark wood. Even the paintings on the wall were artsy, nondescript splashes of paint and shapes. Heather was convinced that when she got her own place, this is want it would look like.

"You've got an awesome place," Heather complimented.

"Thanks. Do you want something to drink? I've got water, iced tea, lemonade, and some orange juice," Eileen offered.

At first, Heather wasn't sure she wanted to partake of anything that might be tainted with Silent Hill cooties. It sounded immature, she was well aware, but there was no telling what would happen if she ingested some speck of evil that permeated everything around her. But this was different. She was in an apartment. A nice one. Eileen wasn't weird or strange, at least, not yet anyways. And Heather was a bit thirsty and hungry too.

"A water is fine."

Eileen grabbed a bottle of Fiji water from the refrigerator and handed it to Heather. "I really don't know Henry all that well," Eileen began as they walked slowly into the living room. "I've seen him just in passing. He seems like a nice guy though. Except this whole strange apartment thing."

Heather did her best to look surprised. "What happened?"

Eileen shook her head as she motioned for Heather to sit down. Only after they had taken a seat individually on the couch and loveseat did she answer the question. "A few days ago, I started hearing these strange sounds from next door. I know it sounds weird, but I can't tell you what they were. They were just there and they would get louder and then they would suddenly stop or get quieter. It didn't happen all the time, but I was really creeped out, so I told Mr. Sunderland."

Though she already knew the answer, Heather asked, "What did he say?"

Eileen pondered the question for a moment. "He said he would look into it. But actually, the first time that I saw him at Henry's door was when you guys came this morning. I just get the feeling that something's not right."

Heather was secretly pleased about how easy this had gone. Nancy Drew had nothing on her. But the hard part was yet to come. Heather decided to go out on a limb and see just how much Eileen knew.

"What do you know about someone named Walter Sullivan?" Heather quizzed. The question was barely finished before Heather felt a shift in the air. It was slight, but a change nonetheless. Heather looked at Eileen, but the other woman seemed to have not even noticed.

Before Eileen could reply, they both heard someone knocking on Henry's door.

"Hey, that sounds like Mr. Sunderland. I need to talk to him. I'll be right back, okay?"

"I have to go to the bathroom anyways," Heather stood and smiled, letting Eileen know that she could trust Heather to be alone in the apartment.

Eileen then rushed to the door and closed it behind her, leaving Heather by herself. She immediately spied Frank standing in front of Henry's door, appearing to be severely perplexed and something else that she couldn't readily identify. "How's it going with apartment 302?"

Frank shook his head regretfully, still appearing to be distracted. "Well, I just tried to open it up. But I think something's blocking it from the inside."

Eileen made a concerned noise and shook her head. At least Frank seemed to be trying to get to the bottom of things. But something still seemed a bit odd about his demeanor.

"Anyway, it's not the first time."

Eileen raised her eyebrows. "You mean the guy that lived here before?"

"And it wasn't just him either. There's something wrong with this whole apartment building."

"Don't say that. You're scaring me," Eileen replied. She rubbed her arms, suddenly aware of a chilly breeze in the hallway.

"Well, anyway, I just slipped a note under his door. Don't worry about it too much." Frank then appeared to drift off into another memory. "There are a lot of strange things in this world. The umbilical cord I keep in a box in my room. Lately, it's started to smell terrible."

Eileen wasn't sure she had heard him right. "What? An umbilical cord?"

"Oh," Frank suddenly snapped back to reality. "Forget I said anything."

Eileen regarded Frank suspiciously. She thought that it was only her imagination that Frank was acting strange, but now, the mention of an umbilical cord solidified her opinion. She was sure that there was something more to the situation, but she didn't want to spend anymore time with Frank.

"But still, those noises," she absently said. She turned back to Frank. "I've got to get ready for this evening, but if there's anything else, I'll let you know." She thought about telling Frank about Heather's questions, but quickly decided that it would be a bad idea. It wasn't that Frank was evil, but until she could put her finger on what it was that spooked her, Eileen decided to play it cool.

Eileen left Frank outside of Henry's door, and gave him one last glance before quickly returning to her own apartment.

II.

Whatever it was, it had flipped over several chairs and moved tables. Christine could hear something scuttle across the floor before another piece of furniture was disturbed. She tried to aim the gun towards the disturbed furniture, but before she could fire, the thing would already be on the other side of the room, rattling something else.

_It's toying with me,_ Christine concluded. It was using the darkness as a cover as it proceeded to terrorize her. But Christine was far from shaken. She was pissed. How could a monster have the audacity to toy with someone? Especially someone with a gun.

Christine hadn't shot anything before, but she decided that whatever was lurking in the shadows would be her first victim. Aiming where a chair moved, she held the gun out, but hesitated on pulling the trigger. It was simply too dark get a clear view of the thing, and it was staying low, so really she would just be taking shots in the dark and wasting bullets.

Though she wanted to unload the gun at her harasser, she decided against it. It would be smarter for her to simply back out of the diner and continue to search for another way out. Christine took slow steps back, while the creature continued to scamper around the dim diner, shaking chairs and bumping tables in various locations. Christine reached for the knob and opened the door slowly, stepped back into the hallway and closed the door back.

Taking a breath, Christine turned to walk down the hallway, but stopped when her foot hit something hard. She glanced down and picked up a flashlight, wondering if someone had dropped this while she was in the diner. That would mean that someone else was down there with her. Maybe it was the old woman. Or the other guy that was with her. But what made them drop the flashlight and where were they now?

Christine felt uncomfortable thinking about the answer to that. Instead she held onto the flashlight and took a few steps down the hallway. But things instantly took a turn for the worse.

A sharp pain invaded her head and it hurt to keep her eyes open. She clutched at the sides of her head, choking back a piercing scream. Squinting, Christine tried to keep her eyes ahead of her, but was taken aback when everything began to change.

The hallway underwent a gruesome transformation, becoming less like a creepy hotel and more like a corridor of torture and death. A pungent smell swirled around Christine as the walls began to seep with blood and gore. The floor became a rusted grate, opening to darkness below. Chains, permanently stained with dried flesh and blood, dangled from the ceiling, swaying back and forth. And then, everything went dark.

Christine forgot about the stabbing pain behind her eyes. She snapped around and yanked on the doorknob to the diner, but the rusted piece wouldn't budge. The door had completely changed from the inviting entrance of Venus Tears to a dilapidated metal door, the stained glass now a fogged panel that hid whatever was now locked in that room. The darkness seemed to close in around her, desperately wanting to smother Christine in an eternal void of blackness.

Christine whipped around and clicked on the flashlight she had just found. The creeping feeling went away as she aimed the light at every corner and down the hallway. But when she aimed it to her immediate right, she knew she was in trouble.

Christine stood stunned, but not frozen with fear, staring at the unbelievable mass in front of her. She tried to focus on the impossible creature, but it almost seemed to be shifting constantly, making it near impossible for Christine to keep her eyes on it for too long.

Its lanky, arm-like appendages pressed against the walls, supporting it near the ceiling and at the bottom, allowing it to hover about a foot off the floor. The arms supported a massive, pulsating body that hid something strange underneath its thick hide. Whatever it was moved as if it were trying to escape its horrible prison. Near the bottom of the body, was a strangely shaped opening, resembling a mouth with several rows of grinding teeth.

Christine kept the flashlight aimed at the creature, afraid that if she lost sight of it for a second, it would overtake her in no time and make a snack of her bones or whatever it wanted to do. She took a timid step back and the thing moved. One of its four arms, the top left one, moved forward and braced against the wall with a loud thump.

It wasn't going to let her go.

Christine took another step back and the creature advanced toward her two paces.

She turned and ran.

The creature's arms hit the wall hard as it charged after Christine. The booming and thumping, plus the unholy shrieks from the creature, spurred Christine to run even faster. She wasted no time trying to turn around or trying to confront the creature with her weapon. The best option was to try to lose it, if she could find a way to do that before she reached a dead end.

The hallway had changed from a simple, short walkway to a lengthy corridor, with no end in sight. Christine whizzed by doors, afraid that if she hesitated for a second, the creature would be upon her. Instead, she kept her stride long and breaths deep, hoping to put some distance between her and her pursuer.

Christine chanced a glance back, only to see that despite her speed, the creature was dangerously close. A scream tore from her throat and she pressed forward, pumping her arms harder and moving her legs faster. She could feel its musty, humid breath on her neck and in her hair. Though her legs stung and her lungs felt as if they were going to explode, Christine knew that she couldn't falter even for a moment.

A door suddenly appeared about a hundred meters away, a thick wood door. She prayed that it wouldn't be locked like so many others she had run across. If it was, she was running right into a dead end, in two different ways.

Her energy was gone, but with a final grunt, Christine lengthened her stride and pumped even harder, putting a bit of distance between her and the creature. Its shrieks were still loud and shrill, but not so close anymore. She hoped that she had given herself enough lead time to escape.

Grabbing at the doorknob, Christine screamed as she pushed the door open, spun, and slammed it, quickly throwing the bolt lock in place. She pressed against the door and was almost thrown onto her face as the creature rammed the door. The wood splintered but held as the creature rapidly pounded on the door. Christine imagined all four of its arms banging and tearing at the other side of the door.

Desperate, Christine frantically searched the room for anything that would give her a way out. Then she spotted it—a narrow set of stairs descending into darkness. Christine decided that any darkness was better than being torn limb from limb by a hellish monster. She took up her flashlight and flew down the stairs, aiming her flashlight downward as she ran.

At the bottom, the pounding still resounded but seemed farther away and somehow less dangerous. Christine knew she only had a few more minutes to work with. There was no telling when that monster would break through and it would all be over.

Christine shone the flashlight on the wall opposite the stairs and found a large dark hole, encircled by strange writing and symbols. The darkness beckoned to her, but Christine took a step back. Suddenly, the door gave and the sound of exploding wood made Christine jump. She didn't have any choice.

Taking a deep breath, she ran into the hole and disappeared into the darkness.

III.

Heather used a plush, deep red towel to pat the water off her face. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror. Despite everything that had happened over the past few hours or so, she looked fresh and exuberant. Quite a contrast to how she actually felt.

Finding her father alive had lifted her spirits slightly, but realizing that the evil of Silent Hill hadn't been vanquished at the end of their battle with Samael, brought her to the depths of depression. Though her father was alive, he wasn't safe as long as this darkness raged on. And neither was she. No one who had been touched by Silent Hill was safe, none of them especially.

She hung the towel back on the rack and strode to the living room. Though Heather wasn't one for eavesdropping, she crossed the room just to get a little closer to hear snippets of what they were saying. It was still muddled, and Heather had already decided that Frank was the number two suspect in all this, so she sneaked to the front door and put her ear to the crack.

The entire conversation was a bit strange, especially from Frank. An umbilical cord? What was he doing with something like that? And why was he keeping it in a box in his apartment? There was something completely wrong with Frank. His entire demeanor since they had first arrived had been awkward and odd. And this was the final nail in the coffin.

The diary they had found earlier also cast Frank in a negative light. The author had mentioned the umbilical cord and Frank's strange behavior. There was no telling how long this had been going on. She was disgusted at the thought of someone keeping something like that in the first place.

Heather was sure that Frank had a good idea of what was happening. And since he had some connection to James, Frank must have his own suspicions and reasons for acting the way he was. Hopefully, he wasn't another fanatic of The Order.

She retreated from the door, having heard enough of their conversation. Heather had just sat on the couch when she heard something. A strange noise. Probably the same one Eileen had just been talking about. There was nothing distinct about it and she couldn't compare it to any particular noise she had heard before. It was just a noise. And it had come from the bedroom.

Heather glanced at the door, hoping Eileen was still engrossed in conversation with Frank. She stepped quickly into the bedroom and stopped in the doorway. On the bed sat a Robbie doll, the mascot for the amusement park in Silent Hill. And the little purple rabbit stared at the wall with its arm pointed towards it, its accusing, beady eyes focused on whatever it was pointing at.

_Stop it! It's just a stuffed animal,_ Heather chastised herself. She was supposed to be worried about hellish monsters and demon dogs, not stuffed mascots. Still, the rabbit made her uneasy.

Tearing her eyes away from the thing, she followed the arm's path until she saw what it had been pointing at. There was a hole in the wall. It was slight and easy to miss, but it was a hole nonetheless. And if her orientation was correct, the hole went right into Henry's living room. She gave another glance at the rabbit, which hadn't moved at all, then strode to the wall and kneeled by the hole. Taking a daring chance, she put her eye to the hole and peered into the dark recess.

It was definitely the living room of Henry's apartment, but she couldn't see much at first. His apartment was gloomy and dim. Still she glanced both left and right, hoping to see something that would give an indication of Henry's whereabouts.

A feeling that she was being watched crept over her. At first, Heather ignored it, but the feeling grew stronger and stronger until she absolutely knew someone was behind her.

Heather spun around but saw no one in the room. The rabbit had changed positions and now sat slumped over. Heather was sure that someone had been there, despite the room being completely empty. For a moment, Heather thought about exploring the entire apartment, but she heard Eileen close the front door.

Heather took one last glance at the hole then slipped out of the bedroom and into the hallway just as Eileen rounded the corner. "I just had to splash some water on my face. Who was at Henry's door?"

"It was just Frank. He was trying to get in there again. But he's been acting a bit strange. I've heard him say some weird things, but he won't admit to it when I ask him."

"Maybe he's senile," Heather offered, hoping to assuage Eileen's fears.

"Maybe," she replied. Then as an afterthought, she said, "Oh, I've got this party that I'm going to tonight. You and your two friends could come along if you wanted."

Heather smiled. She had been so wrapped up in all this Silent Hill business, that she forgot that she was still a young woman. She had to admit that she was attractive and looked like the type that would enjoy a good party. She was sure that Trey would enjoy a good party too. Michael on the other hand seemed a bit more formal and reserved. But those were usually the wild ones. But there was no partying for them, not until they found both Henry and Christine.

Not wanting to seem rude, Heather replied, "Thanks for the invite. Maybe we'll take you up on your offer."

"Well, I'm leaving at eight, so come by, okay?"

"Sure," Heather said as she walked toward the door. She gave Eileen a friendly smile. "Thanks for answering my questions."

"Yeah. I just hope Mr. Sunderland gets to the bottom of what's happening in that apartment. It's kind of creepy."

Heather and Eileen exchanged goodbyes then she walked by Henry's apartment. She hadn't noticed it before, but across from Henry's door were handprints. Bloody handprints. She leaned closer and noticed that two looked much fresher than the others.

_The two murders_, Heather thought. But why hadn't they noticed this before? Why hadn't any of the other tenants complained about bloody handprints.

_Because only you can see them._

She gave one last look at the handprints and Henry's door then picked up her pace to join the others.

IV.

Eileen quickly stripped out of her clothes and turned on the shower. She waited a few moments for steam to float out before stepping in and closing the curtain behind her. The hot water splashed on the face and she lathered up her lufa.

After washing the day's dirt off herself, she sat underneath the stream and let the droplets melt away her anxiety. Surely, there was a logical explanation for everything that was going on and Frank would get to the bottom of the noises in Henry's apartment. Heather and her friends would then be reunited with Henry and everything would be all good, so there was no need for Eileen to worry. But the more she told herself that, the more she didn't believe it.

She turned off the water, stepped out of the shower, and wrapped one of her plush towels around her body. Her hand streaked across the mirror, clearing a spot of Eileen to look at herself. She closed her eyes and bulldozed all the negative thoughts to the back of her mind and took a deep breath.

_This is the night that my luck is going to change,_ she gleefully told herself as she gazed into her own eyes.

Her luck was going to change tonight. The man with a knife hiding inside of her closet was going to make sure that it did.

Notes:

B.O.W.121: Thanks for the review! I hope you like the cliffhanger I left behind in this chapter too.

Kyliemason: Hey, I hope you're still working on that artwork! Christine does keep finding herself at the edge of peril, doesn't she? I try to keep the characters interesting, but real at the same time. I actually pondered over whether to keep the argument over the binoculars or not, but I decided to keep it in the end. I think that it definitely shows that they are still normal people in a highly abnormal situation.

Rodarian: You may be too smart for your own good! Read I think you'll find out definitely for sure who is back from the dead next chapter.

Schreiberjoe: So maybe most writers don't like to admit when they messed up, but I'm not like most writers. I messed up! You brought up a valid point that I hadn't even thought about (regarding why Richard couldn't see the chains and the message, but Michael and Trey saw them immediately). Don't worry though. As any good writer should, I have taken your advice into account and it will be explained in the next chapter.


	8. Everything Changes

I.

"So what do you think is Richard's deal?" Trey asked as he perused the bookcase, looking for some obvious indication of what Richard's was doing there. But he knew he wasn't going to find a book titled, _How to_ _Murder Teens and Throw Their Bodies Into Toluca Lake_ or _Holding Hostages for Dummies_. But there had to be something that would tell them more about their former captor and potential crazed resident.

Michael wondered the same thing as he glanced over magazines on the coffee table. Health, motorcycle, and gun magazines were scattered about with a box of Chinese food open on the corner of the coffee table. Again, nothing that was an obvious sign of a madman or murder. Michael replied, "I don't know. But there is something that bothers me."

Trey picked up and then immediately discarded a strange book without a title. "What?"

Michael let his eyes wander to the window then back to Trey. "It doesn't make any sense. If Richard was a peeping tom, wouldn't he have seen the chains on Henry's door? We saw them with no problem."

"He has deemed you worthy to witness his reunion with his mother," a gravelly voice floated from the kitchen. Michael and Trey both snapped to face their soundless intruder.

Trey immediately recognized the unmistakable combination of oily dark hair, pale face, dark eyes, malevolent stare, and gravelly voice. Trey wasn't sure what his name was, but all he knew is that he was somehow a witness to Christine's kidnapping. The man was also present when Killian resurrected Samael, but he slipped off into the darkness before anything could happen.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't use you as target practice," Trey demanded as he aimed his crossbow right at Wallace's chest. When a high-pitched giggle escaped from Wallace, Trey was ready to pull the trigger.

"Trey, wait," Michael said, sensing his frustration. "Greg Wallace. You're the one we saw before. What do you know?"

Greg regarded Michael with suspicion and an unhealthy curiosity. "I see all. And I know even more. You will witness his reunion, once the twenty-one sacrifices have been made."

"Twenty-one sacrifices?" Trey repeated. Then it clicked. "The numbers being carved into the victims is a numbering system then. And that would mean he's on number eighteen."

"Tsk, tsk. Your wit and clever skills have fallen short. Number twenty will soon be complete. You should take a look," Greg motioned to the window. Michael rushed over and snatched the binoculars from the floor. Peering around, Michael rested on the apartment next to Henry's. If he remembered correctly, that apartment belonged to Eileen, Henry's next-door neighbor. The one that Heather was planning on seeing.

Michael wasn't sure why he lingered so long on her apartment, but he continued to scan her apartment. Resting on her bedroom, Michael saw the closet door creep open from the inside. His palms already beginning to sweat and his breath shortening, Michael kept his eyes locked on the closet. Then, his blood ran cold.

Walter Sullivan stepped out of the closet. And Michael recognized him as the same person that had attacked him in the gas station. He was here in this apartment complex. Walter had lured Trey, Heather, and him to South Ashfield Heights. Walter was the one responsible for Henry's imprisonment. And now, he was intending on murdering another innocent person.

Before Michael could react, Walter turned toward him, and his piercing blue eyes bore through the binoculars right into Michael's brown eyes. Despite the distance and the cover of darkness, Michael knew that Walter was looking directly at him.

Then Walter smiled crudely as he pulled out a knife. He took his eyes away from Michael, only to study the knife with an unhealthy interest. Walter toyed with the knife, flicking his finger across the blade then ended the show by flicking his tongue across the keen blade. His gaze went towards Michael again and the grin spread wider as he turned away from the window.

Michael dropped the binoculars and sprang to his feet. "We've got to get down there!"

Trey turned sharply toward Michael, forgetting about Greg momentarily. "What? What's going on?"

"Walter's here. He's at Eileen's apartment!" Michael bolted past Trey, he too completely forgetting about Greg, and Trey fell in behind him. Greg took advantage of their inattentiveness and melted into the shadows, leaving behind an echoing, sadistic chuckle.

Michael threw his hand on the knob and tried to open the door, but it wouldn't budge. Suddenly, thick chains appeared from nowhere and snaked across the door, crisscrossing one another every so often, and ending in a metal clamp affixed to the wall. Then a message was scraped across the door by an invisible force.

_You're not leaving. Walter._

"No!" Michael shouted as he yanked on the chains and beat on the door. "Dammit, we've got to get out of here," Michael looked around for anything he could use to cut the chains or loosen the bolts. Then the room grew darker.

"What's happening?" Trey still then suddenly grabbed his head. Michael reached for him, but was struck by a piercing pain behind his eyes. Though he was surprised, Michael had felt this before. He forced his eyes open as he watched in horror as everything began to degrade.

Only after a few moments, the pain subsided and Michael realized that everything was horribly wrong. Rust, corrosion, and decay surrounded him and Trey. The once decent apartment had transformed into a hellish, warped version of itself.

"Just like in Silent Hill," Trey said in disbelief. "But how?"

"I don't know," Michael said as the last hope that they were safe from the horrors of Silent Hill slipped away.

II.

Thick steam billowed out from the shower behind Eileen as she stepped out and quickly wrapped her dripping body in a plush towel. She shook her wet locks and wiped the mirror, providing a clear spot to view herself in.

For just a moment, Eileen admired herself. Long hours in the gym, a great diet, thirty minutes a week at the tanning salon, and weekly visits to her stylist contributed to the woman that stared back at Eileen. And she was happy with the results.

It took Eileen two years into high school to realize she was much more than cute. And her looks only intensified as she grew older. Before she moved to South Ashfield, her friends always admired her jade eyes and dark hair. And she never had a problem having a boyfriend. However, since moving to South Ashfield, Eileen really hadn't had the streak of luck with finding friends or boyfriends, which sent her into a bit of a slump. But a party invite from a co-worker about a month ago was enough to reinvigorate her motivation to be that girl. The one that all the guys check out, but are too intimidated to talk to. The one that all the girls talk about only because they're jealous. Eileen was that girl before and now as she looked herself up and down, she was that girl again.

She dropped her towel and slipped on her dress that she had previously laid out on the bed. Eileen stepped into matching high-heel shoes and shook her damp hair. She was ready to blow dry her hair when she heard something. It was faint breathing, muffled and low, but rhythmic. She was surprised that she heard it at all.

Eileen stepped back into the bedroom, but the breathing ceased abruptly. Now, it was too quiet. It was as if the entire world had completely disappeared, and Eileen was left all alone.

"Heather?" she called. Secretly, Eileen hoped that Heather had come back into the apartment while she was still in the shower and was already dressed and ready to go. That would be the easy explanation.

She turned away from the bedroom and glanced into the living room. There were no obvious disturbances. The windows were still shut and the door was still closed tightly. But when she turned back around, Eileen almost screamed.

A man now stood in her bedroom, eying her with an unhealthy interest. Eileen then realized why she had felt like someone had been watching her. Her stalker had been in her apartment the entire time.

Frozen with shock, Eileen took a step backwards but stopped. She knew that if she tried to bolt for the front door, her intruder had the advantage and would be upon her in no time. Going out of a window on the third floor wasn't a great idea either. But the thought of what this crazy man was capable of made her contemplate suicide for a fraction of a second.

There was no way she was going to turn her back on this guy, so Eileen squared her shoulders and tried to appear as calm as possible. But her heart was pounding.

The man took a step forward.

Her breath caught in her throat and she stepped back reflexively. "Who are you?" her voice was raspy and rushed.

"You're the key to finding my mother, Miss Galvin. I've known since I first saw you. And now, the time has come. I will see my mother."

He was crazy. It didn't take long for Eileen to come to that conclusion. But the edge in his voice told her he was capable of doing torturous harm. And deep down, though she tried to push it away, Eileen knew that he was there to kill her.

III.

Heather tried to pick the lock to Henry's apartment, using two pieces of wire she had found on the floor randomly. She thought it would be just as easy as she had seen on television. Just insert the two pieces of wire, jiggle them back and forth a little, and presto, instant unlocked door. But she had no suck luck.

Disappointed and slightly frustrated, Heather decided to head back downstairs to apartment 104. Hopefully, the guys were already there with some clues to help them get to the bottom of what was going on.

As soon as Heather reached the door for the stairway, she was nearly knocked over by a young boy. He toppled to the ground, a muffled cry escaping his lips.

"Hey, are you okay?" Heather helped the boy to his feet and checked him out for any bruises or head injuries. He little boy didn't respond. His blue eyes were cast downward and he stood stiffly, as if he expected Heather to hurt him.

"I'm sorry, I didn't see you coming through the door," she tried to laugh off the accident, but the little boy was humorless, content to keep his eyes cast downward. Heather continued to kneel in front of the boy, suddenly concerned about his well-being.

"Where are your parents?" she tenderly asked.

"Just Mommy," he whispered.

Single parent home. Heather made a sympathetic sound, after hearing the sadness in the boy's voice. There was something more that Heather couldn't exactly put her finger on. Something vaguely familiar about the boy. But she shrugged it off.

"Well, let's get you to Mommy, okay?"

"You can't help me," the boy snapped. The boy's directness startled Heather and alarmed her. Was the little boy just a brat or was there something else?

Heather stood, an uneasy feeling creeping up the back of her neck. "I can help you find your mother," Heather tried to sound reassuring. "We're on the third floor now, is she up here?"

The boy nodded.

Remembering the handprints, Heather thought twice about heading back down the hallway, but she pushed her fears away for now and hoped that the guys wouldn't mind waiting a few extra minutes. She took the boy by the hand and led him back through the door.

Suddenly, he broke free from her grasp and dashed down the hallway.

"Wait!" Heather said and took a few hesitant steps after him, but stopped when the boy spun around and glared at Heather.

"It's all your fault!" he shot. He then turned and ran into Eileen's apartment and shut the door quietly.

Heather was stunned. What was all her fault? Though Heather tried to pretend she was unsure of what the boy meant, she had already deduced deep down that they boy somehow knew what was going on and blamed her. But in all honestly, she was to blame for this entire mess.

_That kind of thinking will get you no where_, Heather chastised herself. She quickly followed the boy to Eileen's apartment. Why did he go in there? Eileen didn't mention any children, and she didn't have any pictures up of the young boy, like most parents would.

"Eileen?" she called as she knocked on the door. She jumped back when she heard a body hit the floor and the little boy scream. She went for the knob, but it wouldn't turn. "Open the door, it's me, Heather," her voice escalating in alarm. The boy was now shouting at someone, but Heather couldn't make out what he was saying.

She wrenched on the knob harder then tried to throw her shoulder into the door. After only a few tries, the door gave and Heather rushed into the apartment. She took a few steps, slowed, then stopped as her heart began to pound.

Eileen was lying on the floor, almost unrecognizable from the cuts and gashes all over her body. The little boy kneeled next to her, tears brimming at the edges of his eyes. "Eileen?" she hollowly repeated. "What—who did this?" Heather asked the boy, unsure of whether he was the culprit or someone else that had long since fled the scene.

The boy looked at Heather as tears streamed down his face, but he said nothing. Just as Heather took a step forward, she caught a glimpse of something shiny arcing toward her. She fell back as a knife sank into the counter. The man wielding the knife snatched the blade out of the counter and started toward Heather.

She rapidly scooted backwards using her hands and feet, barely escaping another swipe from Walter. Then he fell onto her, hoping to use his weight to subdue her, but Heather predicted such a move and rolled out of the way. Walter wildly swung again, but Heather was out of reach, scrambling to her feet, then dashing out the door.

Heather hoped the madman would follow her outside, leaving Eileen and the boy safe. Both relief and panic flared as she heard him pad out into the hallway and then dash after her. In a quick, fluid movement, Heather spun on her heel, whipped out her gun, and fired.

The first bullet hit Walter in the right shoulder, causing him to drop the knife. His advance was halted from the force of the bullet, but he continued forward. Heather shot him again, this time in the stomach. Before he could react again, the third bullet hit him in the chest and Walter fell to the ground.

Heather breathed hard, keeping her eyes locked on Walter, who lay motionless on the hallway floor. Was it over? Had she killed Walter? A strange feeling coursed though her then the lights flickered. Almost as if she was watching a movie, she saw Henry Townsend walk down the hallway, the scene in front of him unnoticed, and walked right into Eileen's doorway. Henry stopped, obviously surprised by what he saw and backed out of the room.

"Henry?" Heather called.

Everything seemed to finally register with him. Paled, Henry reacted to his name being called. He turned as locked eyes with Heather. "It's dangerous. You have to get out of here," he looked down and saw Walter lying facedown on the floor.

"I think he's dead. Is he Walter Sullivan?"

"I think so. We've got to get Eileen to a hospital. I—" Henry lurched forward grabbing his head. Heather stepped forward to help, but the piercing pain took away her vision momentarily and equilibrium for a little longer, and she stumbled, leaning on the wall for support. The lights flickered rapidly, and then she saw Walter rise to his feet and retrieve his knife.

He narrowed his eyes at Heather and smiled evilly as he vanished in between the dark and light. Henry stumbled back then he too disappeared in a dark moment, leaving Heather alone.

Then everything changed for the worst.

IV.

Christine Mitchell emerged from darkness into a nightmare.

The heavy air, laden with evil, was thick and difficult to breathe. Though the space she found herself in was still and warm, she felt a shiver trickle down her spine as she took in her dark surroundings.

She quickly figured she was in an apartment building, judging from the rows of mailboxes to her immediate right, the staircase leading to a second and third floor, and a hallway lined with numbered doors. But the corrosion and decay that infested everything gave off a putrid odor and set Christine on edge.

Glancing behind her, and satisfied that her monstrous pursuer had given up its chase, Christine checked her gun and set forward, taking her time as she moved carefully down the first floor hallway.

The shadowy corridor hid something that seemed to be right on the edge of Christine's vision, but when she tried to catch sight of it, there would be nothing but a quivering shadow left behind. None of the normal noises of an apartment building existed—no televisions, music, children playing. Nothing. Just the silence.

And that was unnerving in itself.

Though she had just escaped from a grotesque monster, Christine felt even more on edge as she crept down the hallway. Not knowing what lie behind each door, trying to guess when something would jump out, and staying beyond alert to react to anything strange was already wearing Christine down. She was losing focus, and that would be the moment that something would get her.

A tricycle wheel suddenly squeaked. Christine pointed her gun toward the end of the hallway, at the rotating wheel, moved by something no longer present, the effects of physics slowing its spin to a stop. She looked to the left and right, noticing doors to apartments on either side, but no indication that someone had made a hasty escape into one of them.

"Hello?" Christine called then immediately chastised herself. That was a dumb horror movie mistake. Never call out to whoever you think may be out there, because despite who you think it is, it is always something far worse.

Christine took deliberately slow steps toward the tricycle. Upon closer inspection, the rusted child's toy was turned on its side, haphazardly left in the middle of the hallway. Blood stains spotted the frame, and some kind of unidentifiable gore trailed from the tricycle into the door to the right.

The door was open a crack then suddenly slammed shut, making Christine jump. There was something in there. Something terrible that was waiting for Christine.

She took a step forward, hoping the beads of sweat on her hands wouldn't make the gun slip from her fingers when she needed it most.

Another step.

Silence swirled around her and the air was nearly too thick to breathe.

Step.

It was there, waiting in the dark.

Step.

It wanted her to come closer.

Christine reached for the knob, but before she could turn it, she felt something heavy grasp her shoulder. And she screamed.

Notes:

Luna-Starr: Thanks for the words of praise! And all your reviews! Let me know what you think of this new chapter.

Darknessin Shadows: Glad you liked the chapter. I know it's been awhile, but here's the next chapter!

Jammer69er: lol. Stuffed animals are always creepy things in these kinds of situations. I don't think that's the last we'll see of the creepy Robbie Rabbit either.

Schreiberjoe: lol. I know I kept everyone waiting for quite a bit of time. Writer's block is a bit of a pain, but I think I'm over it now. Glad that despite the delay, you are keeping up with the story. And the first section is for you. Thanks for that catch last chapter.

NovaAngel19: I pleased that you like both the Lost Souls stories. There's one more out there Silent Hill 3: Harry Mason. It happens alongside Silent Hill: Lost Souls. Check it out and let me know what you think.

Kyliemason: Seems like your drawing keeps getting you in trouble. You'll have to let me know when you update again. I'm really aiming to step Christine's character up a bit. I think she showed everyone what she was made of toward the end of the first story. Hopefully, she becomes as badass as Trey (maybe not quite that level, but you know what I mean). Lots of Trey and Mike this chapter, and I promise, you'll be seeing a lot more of them (and so will Walter). Make sure to let me know what you think of this new chapter.

Rodarian: Glad you're still on board. Hope I'm still pleasing you, Loyal Fan.


	9. The Otherworld

I.

_It can't end like this. _

Michael McNeal stood in the middle of Richard Braintree's living room, contemplating how he and Trey were going to get out of this new mess they had found themselves in. It really wasn't that long ago that Michael set out with Trey Harrison and Heather Mason to South Ashfield Heights. They hoped to find Henry Townsend, who had disappeared in their final confrontation with Samael, and find some clue to where their friend, Christine Mitchell had gone after disappearing in the same battle.

They soon came to find that things were not as they seemed. In fact, though they thought that the horrors of Silent Hill were far behind them, they discovered that the nightmarish world had somehow been conjured here in South Ashfield, somehow permeating everything that Walter Sullivan willed it to. And this apartment was no different.

Michael glanced again at the chains that had only moments before snaked across the door, effectively trapping them in the apartment, much the same as had been done to Henry. He already accepted the fact that they were trapped, and unless they found someway out of the apartment, there was no telling what would happen to them or Heather.

Just for the sake of doing it, Michael pulled at the chains, but they held fast, barely having a centimeter of slack.

"We're trapped," Michael resigned. He couldn't keep the despair out of his voice that threatened to smother any glimmer of hope he ever had.

"That's why you're the leader. You can spot out the most obvious things and point them out as if other people don't see it too," Trey replied.

Michael got ready to argue back, but instead let out a humorous sigh. Even though things looked hopeless, leave it to Trey to keep his sense of levity. Michael wondered if anything ever bothered him. Then he remembered—Christine's disappearance. The first time Michael had really seen Trey distraught. But things had been moving so fast, Michael didn't have a chance to really talk to him about it. He hoped that Trey's comical act wasn't simply a cover for how he truly felt.

Pushing his thoughts aside, Michael glanced about the apartment. The decent, yet dusky apartment was now a darker version of itself—sparsely furnished with rotted wares, rust-stained walls and floors, dark splotches of crimson splayed everywhere, and a heavy silence that blanketed everything. Aside from being dreadfully repugnant, there didn't appear to be any thing dangerous in the immediate vicinity. And Michael couldn't feel his phone vibrating, so at least they were safe even if they were imprisoned in a hellhole.

Noticing five locks on the door, Michael crossed the room to the kitchen and leaned against the counter. There had to be something that they had to figure out. Something that they were supposed to do from here. Stemming from their previous experience, Michael knew that some riddle or puzzle awaited. All they had to do was find it.

Before he could devote all his brain power to solving their present predicament, Michael felt his cell phone vibrate in his pocket. A small tremor then it was still again. Alarmed, Michael searched the room for any monstrous dogs, flying wraiths, or shambling zombies, but there was nothing.

Trey noticed Michael sudden alertness. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"I don't—" Michael stopped when his eyes fell on a smudge of dark red against the stained refrigerator. As his eyes searched the refrigerator, he began to spot more blood, seeping from the door near the bottom, the crimson contrasting starkly against the dingy floor. Everything around him seemed to fade away and nothing remained but the thick, dripping blood.

Michael moved deliberately toward the refrigerator, his gun pointed toward the floor, but angled so he could get in firing position quickly. His boots thudded on the tiled floor, hitting every fifth thumping heartbeat from his chest. The hairs on the back of his neck responded in kind as a shiver went down his back.

Trey followed Michael's gaze to the floor, immediately sensing danger. He pulled out his crossbow and stepped to an advantageous location near the hallway, where he had a clear shot of the refrigerator. He aimed his crossbow, without any indication from Michael, and held his breath as Michael neared the refrigerator.

As he drew closer, a putrid smell invaded his nose, and Michael almost gagged. Despite tearing eyes and the thick air, he advanced on the refrigerator then stopped in front of it. Everything in his mind was telling him not to open it. Every alarm in his head was going off, and his muscles were tense, ready to react at the slightest hint of danger.

He chanced a fleeting glance back at Trey, who kept his aim pinpointed on the refrigerator. He gave Michael a knowing nod, signaling to go through with opening it. Resolved to satisfy his own curiosity, Michael opened the door. As his eyes adjusted to the scene before him, he could do nothing but stare in horrific disbelief.

A visage twisted into painful scream, shrouded in a pale light, stared out at Michael. Though partially decomposed and bodiless, coagulated blood continued to seep from the jagged neck wound, marking the decapitation point. It sat there, on the top shelf, as if it belonged there right beside the milk and eggs.

Michael tore his eyes from the head, only to find appendages haphazardly placed on the shelves below. Two arms, two legs, and on the bottom shelf, a torso, still partially clothed.

"Who did this? Was it Richard?" Trey's voice came out in a whisper. Though they had faced several unreal horrors, seeing a dismembered body stored for future use hit Trey hard.

Michael backed away from the scene, finally able to look away. "She was already dead. Someone—no, something—put her body in there."

Trey tore his gaze away from the refrigerator and focused on Michael. "Are you okay?"

His normally cocoa complexion paled, and his eyes were laced with disgust and disbelief. "The body—that girl—she's the first person I met when all this started, Stacy Aspen."

"You...you know her?"

The strength appeared to drain from Michael's face and his posture crumbled. He had to lean on the counter to keep from completely losing his equilibrium. "I only left her alone for a couple of minutes. She was gone so long—when I went in, I found her like this." He was getting dizzy just thinking about the horrific scene of Stacy's bodiless head resting upon the toilet.

Trey couldn't muster any words to console Michael. He shook his head sympathetically, letting the silence speak volumes.

Michael understood the silence, and for once was grateful for it. He knew that no matter what, Trey had his back, and they couldn't stop until they had found Heather and Christine. And put a stop to the evil of Silent Hill once and for all. He stood, albeit shakily, and gathered his bearings.

Standing to the side, Trey's eyes wandered to the head again, and this time, he spied a corner of a piece of paper hanging out of its—no, her—mouth. Knowing Michael couldn't—wouldn't—be able to retrieve it, Trey stepped forward and reached toward the head. He snatched the piece of paper and slammed the door, letting out a breath of relief, thankful that the head hadn't come to life and asked for the paper back.

"What is it?" Michael asked.

Trey unfolded the paper and read it aloud. "Odd makes two. Even makes one. Even first, odd second. The in the middle."

Michael was perplexed. "Is that it?"

"There's another line separated from the rest. Her star or the trim."

Again, a pondering silence fell between them. Michael crossed the kitchen, avoiding all eye contact with the refrigerator, and looked over Trey's shoulder to read it for himself.

"What the hell does this mean?" Trey pondered. He tried to read through it again, but gave up as the needles of a headache began to surface.

Michael read through it several more times then it hit him. He remembered the first puzzle they encountered, which was an anagram that directed them to a dictionary. Maybe this was the same type of word game that the writer decided to use, encrypting his message, revealing it only to those that were mentally capable of deciphering it. How dramatic.

Despite his personal disgust for the cryptic, Michael knew that solving this new riddle could be the only way to possible escape their current prison.

"I think it's a clue," Michael slowly replied as he stepped through the passage again.

"Again with the stating the obvious thing," Trey quipped.

"Whatever," Michael brushed him off. He then said aloud, "Odd makes two. Even makes one. Maybe there's something missing from these two lines."

"Like a word?"

Suddenly, Michael understood the entire riddle, and a smile formed. "Trey, I think you're absolutely right."

"Wait a minute. I just said a word was missing."

"Exactly." Michael took the piece of paper and turned to Trey. "Odd makes one _word_. Even makes two _words_. It's got to be referring to the line that's separate from the rest. If you throw another word in there, you get: Odd words make one word and even words make two words. There's a three word message scrambled into that last line."

Trey brightened with understanding as Michael pulled out a pen and scribbled down the shifted words.

"Now, the next line, which says that the even is first and the odd is second. So the even words, or the second and fourth should be first, and the odd words, the first, third, and fifth should go last."

"And the last line says that the word _the_ is in the middle," Trey finished.

When Michael was done making the changes, he was left with: the star the rorrim.

Before Michael could start pondering over the exact order of the letters, Trey said, "The last word is mirror backwards."

Michael looked at it again, and was amazed at how fast Trey had spotted the solution. Scribbling it down, Michael studied the first two words, carefully scribbling various letter combinations until he was satisfied with the answer, which he then said aloud. "Shatter the mirror."

"I don't see a mirror," Trey said, then realized where that large mirror would be. A chill traveled down his spine.

Michael shared the same dread as Trey, but tried to keep it hidden. "The bathroom," he ominously stated.

None of their experiences with bathrooms in Silent Hill had been good. And though unspoken, they knew that they should avoid bathrooms at all costs. Yet, their first clue was leading them by the nose right to the one place they didn't want to go.

Regardless of their trepidation, Michael knew they had to hurry for Heather and Eileen's sake. He took the lead, keeping his gun pointed down the hallway, but took up a much quicker pace.

Opening the bathroom, Michael gave it a precursor glance before stepping inside. Aside from being only a step up from a gas station bathroom, the ones with a key and located outside of the store, there didn't seem to be anything dangerous in the bathroom.

Trey took a glance at the tub and thought of Richard Braintree. "Mike, that guy is still tied up in the tub downstairs. What if..."

Michael lowered his gun and turned his attention to the mirror. "We'll deal with him after we help Heather and Eileen. That guy tried to kill us. Chances are, he isn't going to give up that easily. Besides, He's probably safer tied up in the tub than wandering around looking for us."

Spying a ceramic cup that held toothbrushes, Michael picked it up, surprised at the heavy weight. It would be perfect to break the mirror. He pulled back and was ready to toss it, when Trey interrupted.

"Hey, doesn't breaking a mirror give you seven years of bad luck?"

"I'll take my chances," Michael said as he hurled the ceramic cup at the mirror. With what seemed like an earth-shattering crash, the mirror broke into glassy shards, showering the sink with refracted luminescence from somewhere other than the bathroom. Cascading everywhere, the glass tinkled to the ground. Michael stepped carefully toward the sink and found a key taped to the now exposed wall.

"It's a key," Michael said then turned toward Trey as he started to say something. "I know, I know. I'm stating the obvious. It's a bad habit."

"Well, what does it open?"

Michael smiled and stated the obvious. "A lock."

"You're a funny guy," Trey sarcastically stated.

Michael headed purposefully down the hallway and stood before the front door again. He looked at each lock, trying the key on four of them without success. On the fifth, in the upper-right corner, the key slipped in without having much pressure and the lock practically fell apart, leaving the chain to clatter to the ground.

"Four more to go," Trey said, checking his crossbow. "I'll check the bedroom."

Michael immediately felt antsy about splitting up, remembering the terror they faced when they split up the last time. Plus, he had a dreaded feeling about the apartment. Things had been too easy so far, and there hadn't been any atrocious creatures there to accost them.

But then again, Michael argued with himself, rationalizing the separation by sticking to the fact that it was only a one bedroom, one bathroom apartment, with the same layout as Apartment 104 and Henry's from what Michael could see. They would never be more than forty feet or so away from each other. And they could search the apartment much faster. He remembered that Walter had his sites set on Eileen and Heather only minutes ago.

"I'll check here then. If you run into something—"

"I'll scream like a little girl," Trey mused. He checked his crossbow, gave one last nod, and then disappeared down the hallway.

II.

Without a second thought, Christine Mitchell whipped around with a forceful backhand, and connected solidly with a face. Everything moved at lightning speed—she didn't have time to discern who or what had touched her. She only had a few seconds between life and death, and she chose to fight for life. A graceful spin kick about mid-height followed the backhand and connected, knocking her enemy back into the wall. Christine whipped her gun around and aimed it right toward the fallen body now only a few feet away from her, crumpled on the floor.

"Damn, hold on—just wait a minute!"

Christine's attacker wasn't a snarling creature of the night or demon-possessed patron. As he rolled over and dragged himself to his feet, Christine saw that he looked like he could be normal. Dressed in jeans, a t-shirt, leather wrist strap, leather necklace with a key hanging off the end, and sneakers, he looked like a regular guy. Still, she wouldn't take any chances.

"Who the hell are you?" she snapped, surprised at her own voice.

He moved gingerly, halfway sitting up before he asked, "Could you stop pointing your gun at me?"

Christine's face settled in resolve and she kept the gun locked on his chest. "To me, you're just another crazy weirdo, and I'm not above shooting you."

"You're the one that sounds paranoid, _and_ you've got the gun," he quipped. "Maybe you're the weirdo."

Her face grew hot, and she clenched her teeth. "It isn't smart to insult someone who's a hair's width away from shooting your ass."

He put his hands up as a gesture of surrender. "Okay, relax. I didn't mean anything by it. I'm Dan Hartford."

Christine kept the gun aimed on him, outwardly appearing to not have budged, but internally, she was relieved that she had run into another person. And he seemed normal. For the time being.

"How did you get here?" she asked.

Dan shrugged as he reflected on his timeline of events. "I—I don't know. I was in my apartment then everything went dark. When I could see again, everything had changed. I heard someone walking down the hallway, so I figured you might know what's going on."

Christine decided not to divulge too much information. There was no telling who he really was, or whether he was in cahoots with the old woman and slender fellow. But still, he could be a victim of circumstance, someone that needed her help. She lowered her gun and offered Dan a helping hand.

He looked at her then smiled as she helped Dan to his feet. "I didn't mean to sneak up on you like that."

"You have to be careful, there's—" Christine stopped mid-sentence, and stared over Dan's shoulder. There was something awkward in the distance. It looked like it was standing, but only on one leg. But as the image became clearer, Christine found that it wasn't standing on one leg, but an elongated arm, and the other was pointing straight at them. The cloaked thing was unmoving, which threw Christine off even more.

"What's wrong?" Dan said as he turned around. Then he too stared in disbelief at what he was seeing. A creature such as that only existed in horror movies or macabre tales, but right here in front of him, not more than thirty feet away was such a creature, born from the bowels of hell. Somehow given life and a mission to torment anyone that crossed its path.

Before either of them could react, the cloaked thing started after them, moving deftly with both arms serving as legs.

Christine gasped as she saw two heads underneath the hood that looked as though they belonged to two children. The faces were ashen, eyes closed, yet somehow, they had locked onto Dan and Christine. She didn't know what would happen when it caught them, but she wasn't going to find out.

Finally able to react, Christine grabbed Dan's hand, reached for the doorknob, threw open the door, pushed Dan in, clambered in behind him, and slammed the door, getting a small glimpse of the creature before it fully shut. She threw the bolt and put the chain on the door, as the creature pounded on the door.

Dan and Christine both backed up, Christine with the gun pointed at the door. She realized that both of them were breathing hard but trying to keep it as quiet as possible.

But as quickly as the creature had appeared, the pounding stopped, and it was deathly silent once again.

"What the hell was that?" Dan finally gasped. Christine could hear the panic in his voice and the sheer shock of seeing something that only manifested itself in nightmares. She determined that he wasn't a part of this and he was just as normal as she was.

Christine lowered the gun and took a few steps to calm down. "It's a long story," she hollowly replied. But as she said it, she realized that she was no longer trapped in the confines of Silent Hill. "Wait, Dan where are we?"

He gave her a suspicious, puzzled look. "We're in South Ashfield Apartments. Don't you live here?"

Christine shook her head. "I really don't know how I ended up here. I was running away that strange guy and old woman, then I was chased by a creature, and wound up here. But why?"

Dan thought for a moment. "Hey, have you actually shot your gun?"

"No, why?"  
"I heard gunshots only a few seconds after everything changed."

Christine felt a glimmer of hope. She hoped that somehow, someway, she had ended up in the same place as Michael, Trey, or Heather. That somehow, she would be able to reunite with her lost friends and put a stop to whatever new horror Silent Hill had spawned. But it was a fantastical idea, no way of actually happening. But they did have to find where those gunshots came from. Someone may need help.

"Well, let's wait for a few then we'll try to find some other people, okay?"

Dan nodded in agreement. "I can deal with that. But I'm having a hard time with monsters chasing me down the hallway. I keep telling myself this isn't real, but I'm standing here with you, and you saw the exact same thing. You need to tell me something."

Christine sighed. "I don't know if you'll believe any of it. I barely believe it myself."

"It doesn't matter what you think I'll believe. I just saw a monster in the hallway. Right about now, I'm ready to believe anything that would explain that."

Christine went through the story, grazing over some of the details to keep the story short. She included what they knew about the history of Silent Hill, the incident which brought them together, their trials and discoveries, and the final battle. She also told of her short adventure to this point, and when she was finished, Dan appeared as thought he accepted most of what she was saying, though appearing a bit overwhelmed.

"Well, where do we go from here?"

Christine ran her hand through her brown hair. "Maybe we can find something in here. Do you know who lived here?"

"I'm not sure. I've only lived here for a few days actually. I graduated from Pleasant River University a few weeks ago." Dan took a few steps toward the bookcase, his attention suddenly turned to the sparely populated shelves. "Actually, this reminds me of a rumor I heard. Some of the students mysteriously disappeared, and there were reports of two other students that were mixed up in the situation—Michael McNeal and Trey Harrison."

Christine's heart skipped a beat. During her story, she hadn't used any names. She had managed to keep it generic and simple, but hearing both their names from a stranger startled her.

"They're the ones I met in Silent Hill," Christine said. Their eyes met, and it seemed as though Dan finally believed what she was saying.

"So the rumors were true. Everything that we heard about Silent Hill before then the students' disappearances. They didn't vanish. They were murdered by creatures like that out there. And the cult...it's all real."

"Look, we're in this together. We'll find out who else is in this apartment building, and we'll get out of here."

Dan stood and headed toward the back of the apartment. "I just need a second," he said and disappeared around the corner.

Christine felt sorry for him. He was in the exact same boat as she was when she first met up with Heather Mason. She was confused and scared. Sean, her boyfriend had just been killed, and she reluctantly followed Heather into Silent Hill, where a horrific adventure unfolded. And now, here she was. She thought her actions would have prevented the evil of Silent Hill from touching anything else, but somehow, the opposite had happened. It was spreading and there was seemingly nothing they could do to stop it.

A door slammed and there was a heavy thud from down the hallway. Christine's heart nearly pounded out of her chest as she sprang to her feet, peering down the darkened hallway. She held her breath, hoping to hear the faucet turn on or something to indicate Dan was alright, but there was nothing.

"Dan?" she ventured to call. Christine immediately thought of those foolish women in horror movies that always made the mistake of calling out to some lost guy, which only alerted the killer or monster to their presence. The guy never answered back. And this time was no different.

Fear and dread tore through Christine as she crept down the hallway, not knowing what to expect. About halfway down the hallway, she saw a scarp of bloodied paper lying on the ground. A chill ran down her back as she picked it up.

_He has paid the price for his sins. Have you?_

Though just words, they seemed to have slapped Christine in the face. She felt her palms immediately begin to sweat, and she felt slightly dizzy.

Christine aimed her gun down the hallway and took slow, deliberate steps toward the back. "Dan, answer me." She couldn't keep the quiver out of her voice.

She tried the door on the right, but the doorknob seemed to be broken, and would not turn. Christine then turned to the left and tried the door, which opened easily. She let the door creak open, and had to let her eyes and mind adjust to what she saw.

Blood. Splattered all over everything. A thick, metallic odor overwhelmed her. Then there was blood, dripping into the center of the room. Dripping from where? Her eyes slowly followed the drip until she found the source. She knew it was Dan, but there was no way to recognize him. His body was pinned to the ceiling by his skin, which had been torn from his body in various spots and nailed by any sharp object available—pens, pencils, paper clips, knives, stakes, nails, screws. His exposed, raw muscles still twitched and his mouth was open in a scream which had long since lost a voice. His head jerked toward Christine and she looked into his painful eyes.

Christine felt the sting of hot tears as she backed away. He stared at her for another second then the life drained from his eyes and his head went limp. Dan was dead. Stricken with grief and fright, Christine backed out of the room and closed the door behind her.

She bolted from the apartment in a frenzy, barely able to see from the tears. She didn't think about the two-headed, hooded monster in the hallway. She had to get away.

Christine rounded a corner too quickly and ran into something. She jumped back and pulled out her gun, ready to shoot, but stared at her target in disbelief.

"Heather?" she said.

For the first time, Christine saw Heather give a half-smile. "You're alive."

Christine hugged her, forgetting her panic as she remembered Dan's eyes.

Notes:

Luna-Starr: As you see from this chapter, though our young protagonists are smart, they still make dumb horror movie mistakes. Hope I didn't keep you waiting for too long for this next chapter.

Richard B. Sampson Jr.: The little boy is actually a younger version of Walter, and the scene actually coincides with an in-game scene when Henry finds Eileen in that condition. Eileen does survive the attack, but there's no guarantee she'll make it through to the end. And as you see, Michael and Trey are making slow progress to getting out of that apartment. Let me know what you think of this new chapter.

Schreiberjoe: Your praise is just too much! I appreciate it. This update was definitely long overdue, but let me know what you think of this new chapter. Oh, and if something doesn't make sense, make sure to let me know.

Rodarian: As you see, Christine was faced with her own horrific adventure in the apartment, but at least she's found Heather. Maybe the both of them together can find Henry or save Michael and Trey. Hope your foot has healed, and let me know how this chapter turned out.

Jammer69er: Greg Wallace is in Silent Hill: Lost Souls. He's the one that kidnapped Christine in the first place toward the end of the story. He's also the artist of some of the weird paintings scattered about. He's an original character though. And yes, our heroes are finding themselves in worse and worse situations. Let's hope they can see this story all the way through to the end.

Kyliemason: Hey, I hope that you've updated your art! Have you played through Silent Hill 4 yet? That may answer some of your questions about Eileen. Yes, Greg Wallace is the painter guy from the first story, the one that kidnapped Christine. Here's the update, and I'm looking forward to your review.

NovaAngel19: Thanks for the review! Make sure to review this chapter as well.


	10. The Escape

I.

Michael McNeal prayed that they could find the other four keys with relative ease, which would give them enough time to race around the corner to Eileen's apartment, intercept Walter's plan, and stop the madness that was slowly devouring South Ashfield Heights. Hopefully.

But so far, the search hadn't gone quickly at all. Michael was sure that his impatience only made the minutes seem like hours, but feeling as though every second put them another step behind Walter Sullivan, Michael was almost insanely frantic with his search.

He had shoved his hand into the depths of the stained couch, his fingers brushing against unsavory textures. He tore into the few drawers that would open. He reached into the dark recesses where light failed to reach. But after a few minutes, Michael was empty-handed, frustrated, and upset.

_Why does this have to be so damn complicated?_

Michael sighed and calmed himself as he scanned the room again. He remembered the last time they were faced with a puzzle like this, but instead of keys, they were searching for coins. And they found one of the coins inside of a light.

He crossed the room to the kitchen, went straight for the light above the sink, and smiled as he spied a key haphazardly taped to the light. He gave a breath of relief as he grabbed a dirty knife off the counter and cut away the sticky strips. But luck was not on his side.

A slip of the knife cut the tape too fast and the key clattered into the sink. Michael tried to move quickly to catch it, but his hands seemed to pass right through the key as it bounced around in the sink then fell into the drain.

"Shit!" Michael cursed. He peered down the dark recess and found the key, which appeared to be within his reach. But he realized that it wasn't just a drain—the key had fallen into the garbage disposal. Michael sighed and rubbed his chin in agitation. Of all places for the stupid key to fall, it fell into the garbage disposal. And now, he would have to fish it out. As long as the garbage disposal didn't come on, he was good.

He reached for the switch and flipped it on to see if the disposal actually worked. The roar made Michael jump and he quickly flipped the switch back to the off position. The blades grinded to a halt, leaving the kitchen in an eerie silence. Irritated, but calm, he then peered into the drain and flipped it again. Spinning blades rotated insanely fast above the key.

Frowning, Michael tried to flip off the switch, but it was stuck. The blades kept churning, the roar of the disposal motor seeming deafening. Michael banged on the switch, but to no avail. Then suddenly, it stopped.

The silence of the apartment surprised Michael, and he immediately glanced about for anything that could possibly sneak up on him, but he was alone. And Trey was still in the back of the apartment.

He turned his attention back to the key, still sitting within reach in the dark hole. He could chance reaching his hand down to grab the key, but bad luck would have the garbage disposal turn back on and mangle his hand. Then he would bleed to death. The end.

Michael had an idea. He went for a drawer next to the stove and found a pair of tongs. They were slender enough to fit into the hold and grab the key, and sturdy enough not to break if the garbage disposal came back on. More wishful thinking.

Still, it was worth a shot.

Michael carefully slipped the tongs into the garbage disposal and maneuvered carefully. Slowly, he poked around until he felt the key. Squeezing the tongs, Michael grasped the key, but it slipped from his grasp and fell down again. Michael recovered quickly, pushing aside his frustration and grabbed the key more solidly this time. Slowly, he pulled it out of the drain and dropped it into his hand.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Michael slipped the key into his pocket. Two down. Two more to go.

II.

Christine Mitchell stared disbelievingly at Heather. She completely forgot about Dan being impaled to the ceiling, tortured and left for her to find. She forgot about the horrid monster that chased her through the hotel. And she forgot about the strange man and woman hot on her heels.

She felt her throat tighten and her breath catch. "Heather, I—I can't believe it's you. I didn't think I would ever see any of you again."

Heather found herself surprisingly caught up with emotion as well. She was not only overwhelmed with a sense of accomplishment from finding Christine, but she was genuinely glad Christine had survived.

"We weren't sure whether we would find you," she explained. Heather kept her emotions in check though, still keeping her eyes and ears alert for anything strange. Walter was still lurking around somewhere, and she wasn't going to be taken by surprise. "But we should find Michael and Trey too. There's something wrong with this whole apartment building."

"I know. I—" she trailed off as Dan's face, contorted into an expression of pain, came back to her. "Someone was with me. And something killed him," the words rushed from her suddenly, catching her by surprise. "The evil in Silent Hill, it's here too, isn't it?"

Heather reluctantly nodded. "I don't know how just yet, but there's something different about this. Someone's causing this, using powers that they don't understand to create this warped existence. And whoever's controlling it, they're gaining more power and the evil is spreading."

"I thought this was all over. I don't understand."

Heather replied, "We're going to find out. And once we do we'll—"

"You'll what?" a strange, yet familiar voice interjected.

"It's you," Christine spat.

Heather turned around to find a gun pointed at her and Christine. Her gaze finally rested on the person holding the gun, and she sucked in a breath. "You're supposed to be dead. I saw Claudia kill you."

"Death. Such a trite concept given the circumstances, don't you think?" he smugly replied.

Christine took a daunting step forward, but their captor redirected the gun right at her chest. She stopped, but no form of fear took over her expression. "You followed me. You and the old woman. Why?"

He adjusted his glasses with his left hand, keeping the gun pointed at them with the other. "It wasn't about you. I figured that eventually you would lead me to Heather. Or should I say Alessa?"

"Don't call me that, Vincent," Heather spat.

"Whatever," Vincent nonchalantly shrugged. "It makes no difference to me. But I told your mother that I would bring you to here. And I won't take no for an answer."

Heather's face paled at the mention of her mother. "No. She's dead."

"Just like I'm dead, right?" Vincent replied. "Come now, Heather. You're dealing in a world where monsters roam rampant, everything transforms at the slightest inkling, and nothing is as it seems. Life and death are but two realms of existence. There are an infinite more, which have been made accessible by you. Take Christine for example. By all means, she should be dead, right? Yet, here she stands."

Christine dizzied at the mere thought of being somehow stuck between living and being dead. "You mean I'm—"

Vincent gave a snide chuckle. "Don't be so dramatic. You're still alive. Who knows for how long if you keep talking though." Vincent motioned with the gun. "Now move."

Heather and Christine fell in line with Vincent a good three feet behind them. They didn't have to turn around to know the gun was pointed in the middle of their back. And given what they both knew about Vincent, it wouldn't take much for him to fire.

"What are you trying to do, Vincent?" Heather chanced a glance over her should but kept moving down the hallway.

Christine noticed the hallway growing dimmer with each step, but she said nothing.

"What do you think I want? I want everything. With Claudia out of the way, Samael can be resurrected the right way, untainted by filthy souls. Claudia was a fool, and I can't give your mother much more credit than that, but at least she knows what she's doing."

"My mother doesn't know anything."

Vincent gave a snide sneer. "Sounds like you're still stuck on that resurrection thing from before. Don't worry. This time, everything will go according to plan."

"I won't cooperate."

"You're really not in a position to determine that, are you?"

Christine halted abruptly, snagging Vincent's and Heather's attention. That was when they a saw a shadow come to life.

Its lanky body slithered across the ceiling right towards Heather, Christine, and Vincent. Its faceless head jerked erratically at a different pace from the rest of its body. It was hard to focus on the creature, but there was no mistaking that there was something horribly wrong with its existence.

The arms and legs were elongated and wrapped in bandages, which dangled from various places on its body. Its skin was rotted and grey, splotchy and sparsely spread across its body, hanging off like the bandages in some places.

"What is that?" Vincent stuttered, unsure of what he was seeing.

"I told you. There are monsters roaming around. And this is one of them," Heather answered, but didn't take her eyes off the creature, which continued to approach. Suddenly, it was gone.

"Where did it go?" Christine panicked.

They heard a whimper behind them. And when they turned around, Christine's question was answered. The creature was behind Vincent, one of its elongated arms jutting from Vincent's chest. Red blood flowed down his shirt like a waterfall as Vincent began to convulse.

Christine screamed.

Like a destructive child with a toy, the creature began to tear Vincent apart bit by bit with his other hand. Vincent came apart easily, as if the creature were simply pinching off pieces of soft bread. His mouth opened as if he wanted to scream, yet no sound came out. There was only the wet sound of flesh being torn from a human body.

Heather figured that it would only be a few moments before the creature lost interest with Vincent and turned its attention to them. In one fluid motion, Heather grabbed Christine's arm and ushered her through a door into a random apartment. She slammed the door, threw the bolt switch and frantically glanced around the room.

"Help me move this in front of the door. Now!" Heather demanded as she positioned herself on the opposite side of a sturdy–looking bookcase. Numb, Christine simply followed Heather's orders, got on the other side of the bookcase, and rocked the piece of furniture back and forth until they had it in front of the door.

Christine was visibly shaken, but said nothing.

"We've got to find another way out of here," Heather said as she crossed the room.

Christine screamed again as the door splintered from the weight of something heavy banging from the other side.

Heather saw a sliding door, which lead out to a balcony. Not thinking twice about it, she ran to it, while calling out to Christine. Heather flipped the lock and yanked the door, but it didn't budge. Her knuckles whitened as she pulled harder. She was rewarded with the door moving only a few inches. Nowhere near enough to slip through.

Christine grabbed the handle as well and timed her pulls to Heather's. The door creaked open a few more inches then stopped.

They whipped around to see a slimy arm pierce through the door. It swung wildly, hoping that one of the girls would be foolish enough to fall into its grasp.

"We've got to get this door open," Heather shouted as she frantically looked around for something that would give her some kind of clue on how to get the door open.

Christine grabbed a rusted floor lamp. "Maybe we can use this to pry it open."

Heather followed Christine to the door, then watched as Christine worked the base through the slight opening. She then got behind the lamp and pushed all her weight into the makeshift crowbar. Heather joined her. Both girls grunted as the door finally gave in and began to creak open.

The front door finally broke as the creature leaped through. It scanned the room for a moment before spying the girls slipping out of the sliding door.

"Hurry! Shut it!" Heather commanded. They both grabbed it and slammed it as the creature ran right into the glass. It made a horrible sucking sound as it pulled back from the glass. With one hit, it cracked the paned glass.

"It's going to get through!" Christine gasped.

Heather spied the balcony of the apartment next door. It was then that she realized something was horribly wrong. They should be on the first floor of the building. And there shouldn't be a balcony. She looked down only to see a void of black below them. No ground. No parking lot. No grass. Nothing.

They were going to have to jump.

Heather climbed onto the railing and carefully stood, feeling unsteady and unsure whether this was a good idea or not. Behind her, the glass cracked then shattered as the monster clambered through. Christine's panicked breaths made Heather focus. She had to make it. And she had to do her best to save Christine in the process.

Heather took one last breath, and focusing all of the her strength, she leaped toward the other balcony. Time slowed down to a crawl as she flew through the air, and for a moment, Heather wasn't sure she was going to make it. The balcony looked much farther away now, and the darkness below seemed to be drawing her into it.

But when she crashed into the metal railing, Heather wrapped her arms around the bars, realizing her heart was beating nearly out of her chest. Mustering more strength she didn't think she had, Heather scrambled over the railing and quickly called back to Christine.

"You've got to jump!"

Without hesitation, Christine climbed on the railing of the opposite balcony, the same as Heather had just done. But before Christine could make the jump, the creature managed to wrap sticky fingers around her ankle.

Christine screamed. Again.

She twisted and fell, banging against the railing while dangling upside down. The creature grasped her ankle tightly. Then without much effort, it flung her upwards and over its head. Christine hit the balcony hard, racking her head on the railing.

Dizzied and panicked, Christine blinked hard and did her best to focused. The creature's hungry eyes were fixated on her as it moved towards her.

Then there were gunshots.

Heather aimed carefully and squeezed off two more rounds. They hit the intended target with a wet splat. The creature seemed unfazed as it leaned toward Christine.

"Christine, hold onto something!" Heather shouted as she aimed her shots at the bolts holding the balcony to the wall.

She shot the bolts closest to Christine, one at the top and one at the bottom and one more at the bottom closest to Heather. It took a few tries, and the creature was too close to Christine for comfort, but the creaking of the balcony told Heather she had hit her mark.

The balcony suddenly lurched because of the weight and swung downward, now supported by only one bolt. Christine tumbled backwards as the creature fell forward towards her. Christine recovered quickly, grabbed the railing and flipped herself backwards, her feet caught the creature in its midsection, and she flipped it over her head, sending it pummeling into the darkness. Christine fell too, but caught herself. Her feet were dangling right above the darkness and she could feel the sweat on her hands.

"Christine!" Heather called.

She said nothing in reply. Christine shifted her weight then crawled up the balcony like it was a ladder. She ignored the creaking and the idea that the entire balcony was going to fall at any moment. All she could concentrate on was getting to the top and making it across to Heather.

Her body was already aching and her arms were burning, but she continued to climb, steadying herself on the rickety balcony.

"Christine, be careful!" Heather called. Her eyes darted around the balcony, and she rejoiced as she spotted a rope and some work gloves. She slipped the gloves on, which were a few sizes too big, and unraveled the rope. "Here, grab onto this!" Carefully, Heather swung one end of the rope toward Christine as she steadied herself on the other end.

Just as Christine grabbed the rope, the balcony gave way with an ear piercing screech. Christine gasped as she suddenly began to fall. She desperately clung to the rope, slowing her decent, but now, she was dangling below the other balcony, only a few feet from the swirling shadows of the void.

"Hang on!" Heather grunted as she pulled back on the rope.

"Like I have a choice," Christine muttered. She really didn't feel like being swept away into another hellish nightmare. The one they were currently in was fine enough for her.

After only a minute or two, Christine and Heather both sat on the balcony, breathing hard. Christine's heart was still racing from her harrowing experience, while Heather, also shaken, was breathing hard from tugging Christine up.

"Are you okay?" Heather asked.

"I didn't know you cared," Christine smiled.

Heather suppressed a smile. "I just wanted to make sure you didn't get in the way later because of some injury or something like that. That's all."

Christine's smile grew broader. "Yeah, I'm okay. Thanks. And it's good to see you again too. So where do we go from here?"

Heather cocked her head toward the balcony doors, slightly ajar, leading into darkness. "It looks like we don't have a choice now."

Heather stood and helped Christine to her feet, checked her gun, then started toward the door. "Let's go."

Christine followed her into the darkness, praying that they didn't run into any other monstrosities, but knowing that her prayers were in vain.

III.

Trey heard Michael only for a few moments before he entered the bedroom. The door closed behind him, effectively blocking out any sound from the front.

_If I can't hear him, then he can't hear me_, Trey grimly thought. But he had his crossbow and his wits. Plus the bedroom wasn't that big or that evil looking, so surely he would be relatively safe as he looked for the key. Still, Trey kept his crossbow ready. Just in case.

The bedroom would have been nice had it not been in a building teeming with evil. A queen-sized bed with an ugly comforter took up a good portion of the room. There was a nightstand next to it, a matching desk across from the foot of the bed, and a bureau on the other side of the bed. All of the furniture was made with some kind of wood, probably oak. A large closet with French doors was along the wall opposite the bureau.

It wasn't overly messy, but it looked lived in. Trey wondered where the resident was.

Moving to the desk, he moved some things around until he uncovered what looked like a journal. Trey flipped through the common-looking journal, only to find that most of the pages were blank or soiled so badly that he couldn't make anything out. However, he finally came to a clearly written entry near the back. He read it aloud.

"There's no escaping this damn apartment. And everything keeps getting worse. The blood, the headaches, and—there's something else. Something unnamable that is always at the edge of my vision, hiding in the deepest shadows, waiting for me to falter. But I won't give it the chance to kill me. No, I won't give it that satisfaction. I'll take my own life before I lose it to whatever it is. And the key to my precious lock. I'll put it in my pocket and as for the rest I..."

The rest of the page was smudged and completely unreadable.

Trey closed the journal, feeling a little creeped out. He couldn't believe that someone had actually left a journal and wrote that they were going to commit suicide. And just what was it that was stalking the writer? And more importantly, was it still lurking around the apartment? Trey pushed his questions aside, vowing to focus on getting out of the apartment before they shared the same fate. Or worse.

Feeling unnerved and tense, Trey placed the journal back on the table and scanned the room for some clue as to where the aforementioned key could have been hidden.

_Well, if he put it in a pocket, the best place to look would be the closet_, Trey deduced.

Just as Trey pulled on the doorknob, a stifled gasp escaped the closet. There was a sound of something heavy tumbling, then beating on the inside of the door. The commotion lasted only a few seconds then everything was still again.

He tried to swallow, but a lump in his throat almost made him choke. He thought about calling out to Michael, but then decided against it. There was nothing to be worried about. It was probably a shoe box that fell from a top shelf. Or some old golf clubs that happened to tip over. Despite his rationalizations, Trey knew that something irrational had just happened, and as such, he was right on the brink of something potentially dangerous and fatal.

He pointed his crossbow at the closet and stood silent for a moment. He waited for some other sign that something was in the closet, but everything was quiet and still. He nervously licked his lips and then started toward the closet.

Trey moved slowly and deliberately, ready to react at the slightest provocation. He reached for the closet door, still keeping his hand on his crossbow. He threw open the door, and stumbled backwards.

A figure dangled in the closet, eyes bulging and bloodshot, cast downward because of the unnatural angle his head was set in. A thin black cord cut into his neck, letting small streams of blood to trickle down his shirt.

It was the guy who wrote the diary. And key was in his pocket.

Trey didn't like the idea of frisking a dead person. Aside from being disrespectful, it was just plain creepy. Still, getting out of this place alive was higher priority than worrying about disrespecting the dead.

Trey's finger's brushed something cold. It was the key. He grabbed it and began to withdraw his hand from the coat pocket.

But almost too quickly, the once limp arm snapped to life, clenching cold, thin fingers around Trey's wrist. Trey sucked in a breath, willing himself not to cry out. His eyes shot from the hand to the face as its eyes rolled into the back of his head, exposing milky white ovals. The mouth stretched open and closed, mouthing something unintelligible and inaudible. Trey pulled back soundlessly, struggling to get a breath, but the grip was much too tight. A tingling in his hand told him that circulation had been cut off and it was going numb.

Trey used his crossbow as a melee weapon, repeatedly hitting the arm until the fingers loosened enough for him to pull away. Losing his balance for only a moment, Trey got his footing and dashed out of the room, never once looking back.

IV.

Eileen awoke to find a scream tearing from her throat. A cacophony of pure terror, it scared Eileen and made her scream even more. All she could see was the crazed Walter Sullivan attacking her. Over and over. His hideous face look up her entire vision and despite clenching her eyes closed, it was still there.

Suddenly, she was shaking. No, not quite. She felt a firm grip on her arms and a rhythmic rocking that jarred her from her nightmare. Eileen thought for a moment that Walter was finishing the job, tormenting her a bit more before the final bow.

But when she opened her eyes and focused, she was surprised by what she saw.

Kind, concerned eyes staring at her. A handsome, yet slightly drawn face, a day's worth of stubble framing his jaw. His mouth moved, but his words came out like he was underwater. Slowly, her senses came back to her and she could distinguish sounds then words.

"Hey, hey. I'm here. It's okay."

She tensed at first, but as she studied his face, Eileen began to remember. "Y—you? You're Henry from next door. What—what are you doing here?"

Henry smiled, glad that she recognized him. Then his face settled into a grim expression. "I don't," he searched for the right words but gave up. "I don't know where to start."

He considered keeping the entire situation from Eileen. He just wanted to get the both of them somewhere safe. Or at least get them anywhere but where they were.

Henry found himself in a seemingly abandoned clinic. But there was something not quite right about the interior of the building. The air was heavy and instead of the sanitary aroma, there was an unsavory stench in the air that reminded Henry of death. He quickly came to the conclusion that this must have been where Eileen was taken to after the incident. So all he had to do was find her.

It didn't take long. She was laying in a bed, restlessly turning back and forth, immersed in her own nightmare. Just as Henry was trapped in his.

Henry took a deep breath. "I was trapped in my apartment. Someone locked me inside and no one could hear me. Then I found a strange hole. Somehow, that hole took me places. And I met people. But those people died. There was nothing I could do to save them. And I couldn't save you either."

Eileen pulled herself into a sitting position. The pains and aches made her wince, but her eyes were alert and focused on Henry. "I don't understand. None of this makes sense. What's going on?"

"I can't answer any of that. I'm as lost as you. All I know is that someone named Walter Sullivan is responsible for some of this that's happening. And whatever he's done, he's tapped into some evil that's becoming stronger with every passing minute."

Eileen rubbed her arms. "Walter Sullivan. The crazed killer. He was the one. But I—I don't understand. Why me? Why did he attack me?"

Henry had come to a conclusion about the killings already, but he didn't feel it was right to share the gruesome details with Eileen. At least, not yet. He lowered his eyes to the floor, hoping Eileen didn't press him for the details. How could he tell her that she was supposed to be Walter's next victim in a killing spree?

"How did I get here?" Eileen abruptly asked.

Henry asked, "You don't remember? There was a small boy with you. I think maybe he called an ambulance. Do you recall anything before that?"

Eileen fell into thoughtful silence. "Well, I was getting ready for the party. Heather was going to come by."

"Wait, did you say Heather?"

Eileen nodded. "I met her and her friends earlier. They said they were looking for you."

Henry's heart skipped a beat. He thought that he had seen Heather before, but he assumed it was nothing more than a hallucination. So it really was Heather. And if she was with friends that would mean Michael and Trey were there too. Henry felt a glimmer of hope.

Though they were a few years younger than him, Henry, in a short amount of time, had come to respect and value their resilience though all of the madness caused by Silent Hill. Somehow, maybe it was sheer luck, but they were able to elude several dangerous situations. Henry felt much stronger and lucky when he was with them.

Eileen continued. "Anyways, I got dressed then...oh, god! He was there. That man. He—he tried to kill me. But that boy, he appeared suddenly and somehow, he protected me. I really can't explain it. Everything gets so fuzzy after that. Henry, what's happening?"

"I don't know," Henry replied. It wasn't a complete lie. "But that's what we're going to find out. Are you okay to walk?"

Eileen slipped out of the bed, steadying herself on Henry until a spell of dizziness and nausea had passed. She stood on her own, thankful that someone had bandaged up some of her serious cuts. But she still had full use of her arms and legs. And she felt as though she could move quickly if necessary.

"I think so," she replied after taking a few wobbly steps. "I'm just a little banged up, but I think I can make it. I won't stay here alone. Not while this weirdness is going on. Not while that man is still lurking around out there."

Henry stood as well. "I got here through a hole. So maybe, we can get back to the apartment building through that hole."

Henry gave Eileen a nod before heading out into the sinister hallways of the clinic, knowing that they would have some obstacles to face before they reached the hole or Heather and her friends.

Notes:

To those of you that saw the previous posting of this chapter (i.e. DigiSim), you'll know that I messed up with the posting and it was all kinds of jacked up (and I didn't do the preview thing before I posted...shame on me!). After I fumed, fueled by embarrassment and frustration, I got it all fixed. I know it's been a while, but I'm definitely still working on the story, just got a little sidetracked for a while. Let me know what you think!


	11. Haunted

I.

Michael steadied himself as he placed a hand on the icy doorknob. This was the next logical step for his search, but a growing knot in his stomach made him second-guess his plan. But he took a deep breath then yanked open the door, ready to react if some horrid monster came shambling out.

But nothing happened.

Michael was staring into an unoccupied, seemingly normal laundry room.

The laundry room was only a little bigger than a walk-in closet, with enough room for a washer and dryer to sit side by side and the corners to be cluttered with boxes stacked only slightly higher than the washing devices. Shelves lined the wall next to the dryer, and a single shelf jutted out from the wall above the washer and dryer, spanning the length of them both. In the corner, a broom was propped against the wall next to a mop and ladder.

Michael scanned the small room, stopping on places that a key could possibly be—laying on a shelf, left on the dryer, or atop a box. No key.

He searched deeper, checking the inside of those boxes, inside the washer and dryer, behind the boxes and clutter on the shelves. No key.

Michael thought he heard something rustle behind the washer, but when he popped his head over it, he saw nothing but a dirty, lint-ridden area punctuated by strange shadows. No key.

_Stay calm_, he told himself. But it was hard to listen to his own orders.

They were trapped in a strange apartment. Walter Sullivan, a vicious murderer, was still wandering around somewhere, probably responsible for their current entrapment. They were separated from Heather and Eileen. Christine was still missing. Henry was nowhere to be found. And it was only a matter of time before some horrible monster stumbled upon them and decided they were fit for a snack. Who the hell could be calm in a position like that?!?

Michael shook his head and pulled himself together. Now wasn't the time to start losing it. He had to remain focused and stay strong. Not only for himself, but for Trey. For Heather. For Christine. For Henry. A deep breath flooded his lungs, and as he exhaled, pushing the air out of his lungs, he did the same to the thoughts in his mind.

Michael then noticed a smaller cardboard box, shoved into the far corner of the laundry room. Dark red stained one of the corners, and it looked like it had been through hell. Having lost its shape, it was more like a crumpled roundish shape instead of a solid cube.

Grabbing the broom from the corner, Michael used the end to try to lift open the box. A wrong move, caused the box to tip forward, spilling its contents, and Michael froze as he looked down by his feet.

A severed head stared up at him, the neck a bloody, jagged stump. His (assuming it was a _he_) mouth was open in a scream that had been long lost after his death. Only the whites of the eyes could be seen and his skin had already begun to decompose.

Michael staggered back automatically, his mind suddenly flooded with thoughts. _Who was he? What or who did this to him? Was it Walter? Was it still in the apartment? Were they next on the list? Was he dead before everything started getting weird?_

But even as the questions came, he knew that there were no answers. At least, not now. However, as he stared down at the decomposing head, Michael noticed something jammed in its mouth. Whatever it was, it was in there vertically, so it was partially responsible for holding his mouth open.

He grabbed a heavy duty trash bag from the shelf, wrapped his hand, and reached into his mouth. It took a good tug, but when he pulled the obstruction out, he found that it was actually a key. The next key.

Michael stuck the key in his pocket, discarded the bag, and stepped back into the front area, shutting the laundry room door.

There was no way that these keys would have just happened into these places on their own. Someone knew that they would be here. They purposefully hid these keys from them. If they didn't find the keys, they would be trapped in the apartment seemingly forever, but if something was testing them, what lie beyond the front door?

As he pondered these ideas, he heard footsteps clambering down the hallway.

Trey Harrison dashed down the hallway, which he swore was much longer than he remembered it. His heart pounded against his ribs and there seemed to be a lack of air, making breathing an arduous task. He rounded the corner and collided right into Michael McNeal.

They both stumbled backwards, shaken and confused.

"What the hell, Trey?!?" Michael yelled. His voice came out much sharper than he meant.

Trey opened his mouth to answer, but simply glanced back down the hallway and then back to Michael. "I found a key."

Michael calmed down. At first, he thought Trey was actually a headless body, searching for a new head to replace the severed one he ran across in the laundry room. He imagined it ripping off his head and placing it atop its bloody stump.

"We've got one more key to find. Then we can get out of this damn apartment," Michael explained. He approached the door and in a quick move, used the two keys he had. The locks and chains clattered to the floor, leaving only one lock left.

"Any idea where it could be?" Trey asked.

"None," Michael said. He glanced around again, realizing that even though they had found the other four keys, they were just as trapped as if they hadn't found any. He felt a sense of defeat and hope was slowly seeping away.

"Hey," Trey scooped up a crimson scrap of paper, seemingly delivered through the crack under the door. "Looks like some kind of note from some weirdo." Trey read it aloud, "That bitch. She found my secret key. Well, I'll just hide it better next time. And I found the perfect place. The passage of the hellbound heart."

"The passage of hellbound heart?" Michael asked as he reached for the paper.

"That's what it says. But how are we supposed to get to some passage from here? That doesn't make any damn sense."

"Maybe," Michael replied, his mind already churning, trying to decipher the cryptic clue. Then he spotted the bookcase. "Okay, this is going to sound funny, but I remember a clue like this from Scooby Doo. They found a note like this, and everyone thought that it was an actual passage, like a hallway. But Velma realized that a passage also referred to a section of a book."

Michael crossed the room to the bookcase and immediately scanned the shelves until he found what he was looking for. "Just what I thought," Michael said as he pulled out a blood-stained book. "Hellbound Heart. By Clive Barker. Remember the movie Hellraiser? This is the book it was based on."

"Lucky for me you're a weird horror-movie fanatic," Trey commented.

Michael opened the book carefully, and a key clanged to the floor. "The last one." Michael picked it up and tossed to Trey then jogged up beside him. Trey hastily used the key on the last lock, the final chain slipping from the door, leaving them free to leave.

"Let's get the hell out of here and find Heather," Trey said as he hastily threw open the door and stepped out. Normally, Trey had a keen sense of awareness, but because of everything that had happened to this point, he was focused on simply getting out of the strange apartment. So he didn't see the open pit of darkness in front of him. And he felt nothing under his foot as his weight pitched him forward and threw him into the darkness.

"Trey!" Michael screamed as he thrust his hand out, while at the same time, dropping himself low and shifting his weight. Michael didn't think it worked like on the movies—that he could just reach out and grab Trey, saving him from pummeling down into the depths of hell. But he managed to grab his wrist and lock on tightly, partly because Trey was reaching back as well.

Trey slammed against the wall below them then steadied himself, not wanting to struggle and make things harder.

Michael got to one knee to steady himself. "I'm going to pull you up," Michael grunted, "but damn, you're heavy."

"It's all muscle. Anyways, you don't look too light yourself, fatty," Trey spitefully replied, though Michael was obviously slender and toned. He couldn't keep himself from taking a shot at Michael, even at a time like this.

Michael struggled to pull Trey up, but when he finally got himself steady and raised Trey up a few inches, Michael suddenly became aware that someone was behind him.

He managed to turn his head slightly to the rear, and saw a figure moving toward him as it faded in and out of existence like a transient spirit. First an outline of a figure. The next step nothing, A silhouette. Nothing. Another loud footstep. A hazy, translucent image. Nothing. A more solid figure of a man. Nothing. Then the figure was solid.

Michael froze as Walter Sullivan advanced on him and didn't disappear again. And this time, Walter had a curved blade in his hand.

"Trey! Come on!" Michael desperately shouted as he put all of his effort into pulling him up.

"Dude, hurry up. I'm not a fan of dangling off the edge of the world."

Michael could feel Walter moving closer to him, ready to plunge the blade deep into his neck. But all Michael had to do was pull Trey up, turn around, and end this once and for all with a pull of the trigger. But there was no way he would get Trey up in time.

"Trey, you're going to have to trust me," Michael said, he leaned forward and looked directly in his eyes.

"Don't be weird. Now isn't the time to get all sensitive on me. Just pull me the hell up, Mikey!"

Michael kept his eyes locked with Trey.

In that split second, Michael knew that he had a choice to make. He didn't like going into the unknown, but unless he wanted both of them to die, Michael knew he would take a severe risk. He hoped Trey would understand, but for now, he was content with Trey being upset with him—if they survived.

Michael tore his eyes away. Then, he let him go.

Trey's eyes widened in shock as he felt gravity pulling him downward. There was a gasp then a reactive scream tore from his throat.

Moving quickly, Michael whipped around with his gun to shoot Walter, but he was already too close. He swung the bloody blade downward with the intent of plunging it into Michael's soft body. Michael threw himself forward while twisting in the air. For a moment, Michael was completely horizontal, seemingly floating in the air. He squeezed off several rounds directly at Walter, but somehow, his entire body seemed to phase in and out of existence, like a bad television signal.

Then Michael felt Walter grab his ankle.

It was over.

An arrow flew up and pierced Walter right through his arm. He screamed and stumbled backwards as he clutched his injured wrist, releasing Michael to follow Trey into the darkness below.

Michael cursed as he felt his body accelerate and darkness sweep around him. But before he could scream, he hit the ground and then everything was silent.

II.

Heather Mason cracked open the French doors of the balcony, letting the pale, dusky light illuminate what it could in the room before them. Given the layout of the other apartments, Heather knew she should be looking at the living room. But the room before he wasn't a living room, but a hospital room with a wheelchair haphazardly turned over in the middle of the room. A grotesquely stained hospital bed was placed against the wall and the metal walls and grated floor were stained with rust, dirt, and blood.

She kept her gun aimed into the room as she stepped forward, ready and willing to shoot anything that even remotely looked threatening. Her boots rattled the grating as she stepped though she did her best to keep quiet. Christine Mitchell was close behind, breath still coming in short spurts from her last near-miss.

"Where are we?" Christine regarded the room with disgust. She looked over her shoulder, and wasn't surprised that the door they had come in through was gone, replaced by another metal wall.

"Was that a rhetorical question or do I really need to answer it?" Heather curtly asked.

A metal slot opened and a pair of normal blue eyes spotted them. "Oh, you're awake!" Metal scraped against metal as the locks were undone and the heavy door creaked open. A blonde nurse stepped into the room, dressed in a crisp white nurse's uniform and hat with a red sweater and matching shoes. Her clean, pristine appearance clashed starkly against gritty surroundings.

"You're the nurse, Lisa Garland," Heather eyed the woman skeptically.

She smiled in response. "That's right, I'm Lisa Garland. But I don't think we've met."

"Wait," Christine interjected, "you seemed like you knew us a few moments ago."

Lisa took a step back as if afraid. "No. No! I don't know either of you." But her demeanor quickly changed and she became friendly again. "I do wonder how you got in here though. The door was locked from the outside."

"Well, we—" Christine began.

Heather cut her off. "Where are we?"

Lisa chuckled delightfully. "Is that a rhetorical question or do you really want me to answer it?"

"How does it feel?" Christine sarcastically whispered to Heather, hoping that having her words thrown back at her stung hard.

After noticing Heather's scowl, Lisa answered, "You're in Alchemilla Hospital."

Christine shook her head in disbelief. "This doesn't look like a hospital. Don't you see—"

Lisa sighed heavily, "I know. We've gotten a lot of complaints about the construction and the closed areas. And the contractor is coming to take a look at the doors with broken knobs." She spoke as if it were the hundredth time she had explained.

Lisa glanced at the bed then cast a look at Heather. For a moment, a dark expression overtook her features then it was gone. "I have to tend to some other…business," Lisa smiled then headed back out of the door, leaving it open.

"Wait!" Christine stepped forward to chase her, but Heather grabbed her arm.

"Don't go after her."

"I don't understand. Do you know her?"

"This room—it was my room. Nurse Garland took care of me after the accident."

Christine looked out into the hallway, disappointed that Lisa had disappeared so quickly. Then it hit her. "That accident happened seventeen years ago, but that nurse didn't look much older than us. Besides that, why couldn't she see this weird version of everything?"

Heather shook her head. She knew that somehow, Lisa, the cheerful nurse that had cared for her for so long, had become nothing more than a pawn of the malevolent force behind Silent Hill. Despite looking normal, Lisa was that same as every other monster they had come across.

"We should try to get out of here," Heather stated, checking her gun.

"But we were in the apartment building. If we're in Alchemilla Hospital, then we've somehow wound back up in Silent Hill."

"The Otherworld, this twisted version, is keeping all of it connected. I think it somehow has to do with Walter Sullivan, the serial killer. Somehow, he's using this power to create his own version of the world. And Henry is right in the middle of it."

"Henry? So we've all somehow been drawn back together."

"Seems that way."

Christine felt that something much larger was pulling their strings…that they weren't in control of their fate. They were small pawns in a bigger game of life and death, which seemed to be spreading outward from Silent Hill. The thought was unsettling, and Christine, for a fleeting moment, thought about giving up. But she steadied herself and followed Heather out of the room into the hallway.

The metal grating from the room continued out into the hallway. An intense darkness stared up at them from below the grates and watched them from the farthest corners of the shadowy hallway. Heather shined her pocket flashlight around the hallway, scanning for any obvious signs of where they should go.

They found a set of stairs, and opted to head that way rather than stay in the basement. They figured that if they were on the first floor, they had a better chance of escaping something dangerous as opposed to being in the confined basement. And as they climbed the stairs, the surroundings suddenly melted into a more normal existence. The walls were walls again. The floors were floors. No more metal. No rust. No blood.

Heather walked forward carefully, keeping her eyes open and ears perked. Staying at such a high level of alert had almost become second nature for her. Which is why she couldn't understand how she didn't notice the gowned, decayed patient crawling across the ceiling. Christine knocked the both of them to the floor as the patient reached down with his other set of arms in place of legs.

Heather flipped onto her stomach and shot the patient multiple times. He lost his grip and fell to the floor, where Christine finished him off with a neck-breaking kick. She wanted to ask questions, but when Heather went into the first door to the right, she followed quietly and shut the door behind them.

"This looks like a doctor's office," Christine commented.

"Check the shelves for any files that could help," Heather directed as she sat down at the desk. Christine immediately began to peruse various files, notebooks, and texts on the shelves, taking note of small things, but not really finding anything of great use.

Heather rifled through the desk then settled on rummaging through the papers scattered on the desk. Underneath it all, she found a file with the name _Alessa Gillespie_ written across it. Opening it, she found the entry from the night she was brought in from the fire.

_Travis Grady (white male, 28 years old, truck driver) saved patient from burning house. They were both brought to the hospital, where the patient was treated for third degree burns, which covered over 97% of her body. There is only a slight chance for survival for the patient. Nurse Lisa Garland has been assigned for the care of patient until death. _

_Travis Grady suffered only minor injuries and bruises. Mr. Grady was released at 2139._

Heather shuddered as she remembered fragments of that night. The ritual. The fire. The pain. Then the nightmares began. The flashes of memories left her cold and shaken. But she wasn't aware that someone else had been there—that someone, Travis Grady, had actually been the one to save her from the fire.

_He should have let me burn._

She closed the file, but found herself returning to Travis Grady. Who was he? What happened to him? Was he somehow drawn into the nightmare of Silent Hill? She was curious, but at the same time, it was at least twenty-four years ago. It was going to be near impossible to find any information out on her mysterious savior.

Heather turned her attention to the monitor on the desk. She immediately spied an icon of the symbol of Samael lined up with other familiar icons on the left side of the screen.

Grasping the mouse, Heather double-clicked on the icon. A dialogue box appeared requesting a password. "Dammit!" Heather cursed.

"What's wrong?" Christine asked.

Heather clicked a few more times then sat back and sighed loudly. "I think there's something in this file, but it's asking for a password."

"Wait, I thought I saw something about a password on a sticky note." Christine quickly reviewed the folders in reverse order, and in no time, she came across the yellow note with a cryptic reference to the password. "Here, this note says something about it. It says that someone had to change the password to the database because a nurse found it out. It then says he locked the password his desk drawer. Signed Robert."

Christine set the papers down, crossed the room, and began to move papers back and forth on the desk. "Ah, here it is," she scanned a personnel roster. Dr. Robert Taylor. His office is two rooms over from here."

Heather strode to the door, put her hand on the knob, and glanced back at Christine over her shoulder. "Listen, I'll get the password. You stay here and see if you can find anything else."

"Isn't Michael always talking about not splitting up?"

"He isn't here, is he? Besides, I have a gun. Stay here," Heather left no room for argument as she checked her gun then strode out of the room, shutting the door behind her. Despite her bravado, Heather felt a knot of apprehension tightening in her stomach. With Walter somehow controlling everything, Heather wasn't sure what she would see next. But it made no sense why they ran into Nurse Garland. Walter couldn't have possibly known about what happened.

Heather quickly concluded that there was someone—no her mother—in the background, orchestrating this whole ordeal. The thought only fueled Heather's hatred for the woman, and she found herself clenching her jaw and squeezing her gun angrily. She let out a sigh and relaxed a bit, as she slipped into the office, which was unlocked, thankfully.

The office was similar to Kaufmann's, aside from being a little smaller and much more disorganized. Despite being a bit more cozy and lived in, Heather felt a chill shake her to the bone.

Her eyes adjusted to the poorly lit room, and she immediately scanned for anything that stood out. The single lamp in the room was on the desk, and it seemed to be lit for the sole purpose of spotlighting a folder sitting on top of the other scattered papers and books.

She picked up the folder and noticed the letter G haphazardly scrawled letter tattooed across the first set of notes. The red ink, at this point she was assuming it was ink, was thick and wet, already running down the paper in certain spots. Heather set it down, disgusted.

But the next sheet had another letter. Y.

So Heather continued through the notes until the letters stopped, and she knew that she had found the password. Heather left the office quickly and rejoined Christine, relaying the sequence of the letters.

Christine typed in the letters G-Y-R-O-M-A-N-C-Y.

"Gyromancy," Heather clarified.

Christine pushed strands of hair behind her ear, her now unobstructed eyes scanning the softly glowing monitor. "I think I read something about it. It's some kind of religious practice involving a circle and some kind of ritual. The person involved spins inside of a circle until they stumble out of the circle. Usually, the outside is lined with letters or some kind of code, so the person keeps going until they spell out a word or phrase."

"That's what my mother keeps talking about—the predictions of Gyromancy."

Christine thought for a moment. "Well, from what I can figure, the drug, White Claudia is involved, which produces hallucinations and possible vertigo. That's probably how the two tie together—they would use White Claudia then perform Gyromancy for guidance."

"Which Dr. Kaufmann, as the director of the medical staff, could make and distribute without a problem," Heather concluded.

Christine typed out some commands in the keyboard and a list of names scrolled for about ten pages. "These are all of the people that they distributed the drug to. Remember that Trey said he and his friends were in the town when everyone suddenly transformed? I think this drug had something to do with it."

Heather quickly followed Christine's logic. "My mother and Kaufmann must have somehow tainted it through some ritual, and everyone that takes it slowly loses their sanity and turns into these monsters we keep seeing. Or rather they give themselves to Samael, and they are remade into some sick, twisted nightmare drawn from whoever is in Silent Hill."

Christine typed in another name and hit enter. The result was exactly what she thought. "Heather, Walter Sullivan was a user too."

"That, with the fact that he's somehow gained this power is allowing him to spread the evil to South Ashfield. But he's creating is own version of the world, so it's not quite the same as before. He thinks that he's in control, but really, he's nothing more than a pawn of this whole situation. And Henry's right in the middle of it. My damned mother and Kaufmann—they didn't care who they hurt or how many lives they ruined."

Christine sat back, crossing her arms. "It's good that we're piecing together all of this information, but I don't see how it can help right now. Henry's still in trouble. Michael and Trey are probably in danger. And Walter Sullivan is still out there."

"You're right, this does seem like useless information," Heather frowned. "The only thing I see is that everything is much more connected than we ever knew. If anyone that took White Claudia can do what Walter's doing, this will never end."

Christine shuddered as she imagined other unsuspecting victims falling into the world of Silent Hill, faced with the abhorrent monsters, macabre landscapes, and cryptic puzzles. She realized that they were lucky, but how many others had tried to defeat Silent Hill and failed? The thought was unsettling, and she hoped that they didn't suffer the same fate.

"Well, let's see if we can find something on Walter Sullivan." Christine's fingers flew across the keyboard then to the mouse. She clicked a few times then sat back as information appeared in a new window on the screen. "Looks like Walter Sullivan was a serial killer. He probably went crazy using White Claudia. It looks like he murdered ten people. But he was caught and committed suicide."

Heather shook her head solemnly, thinking about the victims of Walter's insanity.

"The rest of the entry talks about him becoming obsessed with an apartment in South Ashfield. And something called the Twenty-One Sacraments. Apparently, from what this says, Walter thought that the apartment was actually his mother. As a newborn, he was found in apartment 302."

"Wait, apartment 302?" Heather remembered finding Henry's apartment and phone number before they traveled to South Ashfield. "That's Henry's apartment."

Christine paled. "So you think Henry's a target?"

"There's no doubt. Maybe it's just because he's in Walter's way. Is there anything on the Twenty-One Sacraments?"

Christine scrolled carefully through the text then resorted to using the _Find_ command and searched for the key words. "Aha! It's a ritual of sacrificing twenty-one people, which will summon Xuchilbara, a red god who controls rebirth and resurrection. I don't get it. Who is Walter trying to resurrect?"

Heather shook her head. "His mother. Apartment 302. We've got to get back there. I don't know how other people he's killed, but chances are that he's saving Henry for last. And Henry's neighbor, Eileen, is in danger too."

"But isn't he simply a ghost or something?"

Heather replied. "No, he's not dead. It doesn't make sense, but I think that in killing himself that he somehow continued the chain of killing, which made him victim eleven. But because of his connection to Silent Hill and The Order, he must have found a way to bring himself back to life."

"So then he's been planning this whole thing from the start?!?" Christine was shocked.

"What are you doing in here?"

Heather and Christine gasped and spun toward the door. Lisa stood there, a look of contempt etched into her soft features. She stood in front of the door, looking as if she wanted to charge them, but instead, she held her ground, blocking the door.

"Where's Dr. Kaufmann?" Christine pointedly questioned.

"I don't know."

"Really?" Heather said, cocking her eyebrow. "The last time I saw him, you were dragging him into some hellish hole."

Lisa glared at Heather. "That doesn't make any sense. I said I didn't know where he was," Lisa's voice escalated with anger. She straightened her sweater and regarded the two girls with ire. "No one is allowed in the doctor's office. I don't know what you're doing at his computer, but I'm calling security."

"There's no security around here, only monsters. Don't you understand what's going on?" Christine asked.

Lisa scoffed, "Ha! Monsters? There's no such thing. This is a hospital." She spun on her heel. "Security will be here in a few moments. It would be in your best interest to leave while you still can."

"Is that a threat?" Heather asked.

Lisa opened the door and cast a look over her shoulder. "No, she replied, "It's an inevitable truth." She quickly closed the door behind her, leaving the girls feeling slightly uneasy.

"I'm going to print this off real quick," Christine relayed as her hands moved fluidly between the keyboard and the mouse. "We may need them later." Luckily, the printer worked flawlessly. Christine folded the papers carefully and slipped them into her pocket.

Heather peeked out the door, and after ensuring the coast was clear, they darted out of the office and down the hallway. Taking a few sharp turns, they continued at top speed, accompanied by the sound of their shoes on the linoleum floor.

"This place is awfully empty for a hospital," Christine commented as they slowed in the lobby area. "No doctors. No patients. No emergencies. No paging system."

There was a sickening noise from the dark side of the lobby.

Heather immediately aimed her gun in that direction, and Christine tried to focus on the unnaturally dark area.

"Did you hear that?" Christine whispered, keeping her eyes pinned on the darker side of the lobby. She could swear the dark shadows moved unnaturally, but against a black background it was hard to determine whether she was imagining it or not.

Out of the darkness, Lisa stepped. She glared at Heather evilly, giving Christine only a fleeting glance of disgust. "You," she directed at Heather, "You're nothing but a cursed monster. And you draw everything and everyone around you into your own hellish nightmares."

Heather shook her head. "No, Lisa. That power is gone forever. And I can't change the past. My mother—"

"Damn her and damn you too!" Lisa shouted, making the girls jump. She took an aggressive step forward, her fists clenched at her sides. "I tried to do my best. My grandmother was a nurse. My mother was a nurse. So I gave up my dreams to follow in their footsteps. But the day Travis Grady brought you into this hospital was the day it all went to hell. You drove me insane!"

Heather waved the tirade away. "It was your own doing. You were weak, easily persuaded by Kaufmann into using that drug, White Claudia. The moment you got mixed up with The Order was the moment you damned yourself to hell."

A low chuckled escaped Lisa's lips as a trickle of blood ran from her scalp, down her forehead, and dripped off her chin. "I wanted to keep Harry with me. He was kind. But you—since that first day, I have wanted to kill you with my bare hands." The blood began to run more freely as her body began to convulse like a video in fast forward. "And today, I'll get my ultimate wish."

Lisa's fair skin darkened to a brownish gray, and hardened like visible scar tissue across her face and entire body. Her uniform and hair melted away, exposing a grotesquely deformed body, neither female or male. Gashes like scalpel incisions began to appear on her body, made my some invisible assailant to further warp her appearance.

As Lisa's grotesque transformation continued, it spread throughout the lobby, turning it into a decayed, musty tomb. Christine's eyes watched as the walls simply peeled away and became metal grates—the same with the floor. Blood, mold, and anything else unsightly seemed to simply appear from nowhere. Though she should be used to it, alarm and fear gripped Christine in an unbreakable hold.

Lisa's head moved jerkily as he arms sharpened into scalpel like appendages. Thick, scarred skin had grown over her eyes, nose, and mouth, while her hair had since fallen, leaving behind a scarred head. Her nude body changed as well—the skin became thick and riddled with mold, her legs were thick and heavy trunks of flesh and muscle, and a hole had grown in the center of her chest.

Heather watched unflinching as the transformation took place. Though inside, she wanted to scream and run, this was something Heather had to face—an inevitable battle that Heather had to win if she ever planning on escaping Silent Hill for good.

"Come to me, Alessa—it's time to wash your pus-filled body," the monster's voice echoed from somewhere. The monster then moved much faster than it's hulking appearance would have shown, and the girls barely dodged a swipe of the sharp arms.

"Shoot it!" Christine yelled.

"I have to find its weak spot," Heather replied as her eyes scanned the creature. There was nothing obviously vulnerable about the new creature that now stood opposite from them. Heather darted forward to get in closer range, but the creature turned upon her much too fast for her to react. Like a dancer, the creature swung its thick leg around, blindsiding Heather. The impact hit her full force as she reeled, ultimately smashing into the metal wall.

"Heather!" Christine yelled, as the other girl crumpled to the floor.

The creature spun toward Christine and came directly at her, swinging its bladed arms with reckless abandon. She backed up, but as fate would have it, something caught the back of her boot and immediately, Christine hit the floor hard. Scrambling, she tried to get up but in her panic, her limbs felt as if they all were moving in different directions. Instead, Christine scuttled backwards, just in time for a blade to swing right past her.

As she crawled backwards, her hand hit something icy and round. Picking it up, Christine saw that a random steel pipe had somehow been left near the edge of the room. With no time to figure out where it had come from, she grabbed the steel pipe and swung barely in time to deflect the monster's stab.

Recovering quickly, the creature grunted and stabbed again, but this time, Christine rolled to the right as the creature stabbed with the right. The bladed tip stuck in one of the grates, and the creature struggled to free itself.

Seeing the opening, Christine hopped to her feet and swung the steel pipe at the creature's head, the connecting hit resounding through the room. _Thunk_. She turned her retaliatory attack into a swinging combination, keeping her eye on the creature's arm. Chunks of rotted flesh and blood flew off of the creature's head as Christine hit it repeatedly. When it finally tugged loose, Christine dodged as a wild swing came in her direction.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Heather clambering to her feet. _Thank God!_ Christine praised. She wasn't sue how much longer she would have been able to stand against the monster alone.

Angered, the creature continued to swipe at Christine, but the girl kept herself at a good distance as the blades whistled through the air. Christine heard two shots ring out, but it wasn't until the florescent light fixture fell that she realized what Heather was shooting. Cracking over the creature's head, it staggered, obviously dazed.

A beating heart descended and hung in the open space in the creature's chest. Christine saw the grotesque, pulsing mass, and immediately knew that was the weak spot Heather was looking for.

"Heather! The heart!"

Barely hearing Christine, Heather aimed and squeezed off a final shot. As if in slow motion, the bullet sailed straight through the air and hit the heart, tearing through the center of it. A hideous scream erupted from around them then the creature collapsed in the center of the room.

The deformed exterior flaked off, leaving behind a nude Lisa, staring face up at the ceiling. Her body was bloodied and the wounds from the gunshots and steel pipe marked her. Heather and Christine walked up beside the woman, and peered down sadly.

Heather softly said, "Your ultimate wish wasn't to kill me, Lisa. You wanted to die…you've been trapped here for so long. Tormented."

Lisa managed a weak smile, acknowledging Heather's assessment. "Alessa—no, Heather, you've grown up to be such a pretty girl." Lisa coughed in between most of her words, trying desperately to take breaths but finding it harder with each passing moment. "Harry must be proud. You take care of yourself, and thank you."

Lisa smiled then fell limp, her blue eyes fixated on a faraway place that neither Heather nor Christine were ready to see.

Christine wiped a hand across her eyes. "She was a monster, just like the creatures we come across. Are we end up like her? Creatures controlled by Silent Hill? What if we already are?"

Heather shook her head, refusing to think that way. "Don't accept it. We can't accept that. We're alive. We had lives outside of Silent Hill, and we're going to go back to those lives. So are Trey, Michael, and Henry."

Christine nodded, invigorated by Heather's reply. "Well, let's get out of this hospital and back to our friends." Side by side, the two girls left the lobby area and made their way down the long corridor of Alchemilla Hospital, ready to face whatever horrors appeared in order to escape Silent Hill.

III.

"YOU DROPPED ME!!!" Trey shouted. All sense of rationality was apparently lost in the fall. His voice boomed throughout the dark room and reverberated off the metal walls.

Michael rubbed the back of his head. It was tender, but he wasn't bleeding, so he figured he was okay. "What was I supposed to do? What would you have done? I jumped down right behind you. Doesn't that count for something? I mean, my head is hurting too." Michael rubbed his head to support his statement to Trey.

"Next time, I'll drop you into the pitch black darkness and see how you like it," Trey snapped. "Do you trust me," he repeated in a higher-pitched, mocking voice. "Instead of being dramatic, you could have told me what you were going to do. And then the flashy Matrix move you pulled...what was that? This isn't some video game! If I hadn't reacted, you would have been the newest shredded cheese flavor courtesy of the resident psychopath that happens to be chasing us all over this damned place."

"Maybe we can talk about it later," Michael absently replied as his attention was diverted from Trey's tirade to the scorched, inverted crosses that were bleeding. The dirty, rustic walls showed signs of body-sized dents and holes. Glancing at the floor, Michael noticed unsavory patches of dark crimson and other nameless chunks of rotted something or other.

"Well, if you're done ranting, where the hell are we?" Michael quietly asked.

"The room of repentance," an old woman's voice sounded from the only door in the room.

Trey whipped around with his crossbow, aiming right at the woman's head. "So you must be Little Red Riding Hood's grandmother. Or maybe you're the wolf in disguise? Either way, my trust level is empty, so if you don't start talking fast, you may find yourself with a few new holes."

The old woman's cackle resounded throughout the room, coming from everywhere at once.

"He likes to talk," Michael said as he shot the wall next to the woman. The woman glanced at the smoking hole then glared at Michael. "But I don't. And I've had plenty of practice shooting. The next one is just for you."

"It seems my daughter has a bad habit of attracting filth. How dare you threaten me in this domain," she seethed. "You know nothing of the world you have been privy to witness. Yet, you continue to defy the inevitable."

"Please don't tell me you're going to get on your soapbox about resurrecting Samael. I'll tell Mike to shoot me if I have to hear it from one more insane person," Trey commented. Though he joked, he still kept a watchful eye on her and his finger on the trigger, ready for the slightest aggressive move.

"Daughter?" Michael said aloud as he pieced the connection together. "Alessa's mother. Heather's mother. Dahlia Gillespie."

"Wisdom is bestowed on those that seldom use it to its fullest. Yes, I am Dahlia. And this decrepit world will be remade into what it was meant to be all along, following the predictions of the Gyromancy."

Michael gave her a puzzled look. "I don't know what you're talking about, but all of this," Michael made a sweeping motion with his hand, "isn't right. It's insane. Don't you see—"

"Silence! I shall not hear anymore of your heretical words."

Trey responded, "Look, lady, we've got weapons and you don't. And you don't look like a monster, so one shot could—"

"So, you've turned into murders. Hurting a poor, defenseless avatar of the new world."

Michael foolishly lowered his gun. "That's not—" he began, but he never finished his sentence. An invisible force hit him in the chest, throwing him against the wall. He briefly saw the same thing happen to Trey, and before everything went black, he noticed a mysterious glow in the eyes of Dahlia Gillespie.

Notes:

Betweenheavenandhell: Thank you, thank you, thank you. I've been looking for a critique of the story. I definitely don't mind the negative stuff, so thanks. I definitely don't plan on reusing the bit-character death sequence for fear of over using it. I'll check back through and make sure I'm not rehashing tired lines either. I definitely hope to keep the characters' dialogue fresh and witty. In a way, this story is an add-on with OCs, but at the same time, this follows the thread of the previous stories (Silent Hill: Lost Souls and Silent Hill: Harry Mason), where each character plays a pivotal role in the overall story, making the actual game story an underlying current keeping it all together. Glad that you like the story overall and keep the critiques coming.

Swordbunny: Glad you're enjoying the story as well. Hopefully, you get the chance to check out this chapter as well.

Caffeine Productions: Yeah, I think it was pretty smart of Michael too not to put his hand in the disposal. I know you had to wait a long time for a new chapter, but I hope you like this one as well.

Rodarian: No, I didn't get lost in the fog (I like the pun), just writer's block. I'm working through it though, as well as working on several stories at once. Let me know what you think of this chapter.

Luna-Starr: And I'm still going…

DarknessinShadows: Updated! Finally!

Shortey: Yes, there's definitely still more to come. This story is far from finished.

Kyliemason: Hope your artwork is still going well, and I hope that you're still keeping this story on your alert list!

DigiSim: I may have to think about that suggestion for the next chapter.


	12. Wish House

I.

Henry Townsend and Eileen Galvin tore down the narrow hallway, their breath coming in ragged gasps as their feet pounded against the linoleum floors. A third set of heavy footsteps thudded behind them and drew closer with each passing moment. Though they were fast, their pursuer was deceptively faster.

Henry chanced a glance over his shoulder to find the gray-skinned giant eagerly chasing them, the hunger of evil burning deeply within its dark eyes. The androgynous creature, clothed in a ragged shirt and skirt, was scarred and bloody, but its injuries didn't seem to slow it down one bit. Its lumbering body and grossly elongated appendages moved in concert, propelling the creature forward without a hint of awkwardness as its greasy, wet hair flapped back and forth.

Upon their investigation of the clinic, Henry and Eileen accidentally stumbled on the creature. It was simply standing in the middle of the hallway idly, as if simply waiting for someone to tell it what to do. Weaponless, Henry and Eileen silently agreed that a confrontation wasn't in their best interests, so they quietly turned and headed in the opposite direction. But maybe it smelled them or somehow sensed their presence because only a few seconds later, the creature started after them, determined to complete whatever horrific mission it suddenly had.

Focusing back on the path in front of them, Henry and Eileen skidded around a sharp corner, barely keeping their footing on the smooth linoleum floor. Fortunately, the creature wasn't as lucky as it recklessly rounded the corner, slipped, and smashed into the wall. With a yelp of surprise, it hit the floor hard and flailed to get back on its feet. Henry and Eileen heard the commotion but ignored it for fear of tripping over some unseen obstacle, concentrating solely on distancing themselves from the creature before it rose again.

Henry tried to mentally run through what he remembered of the building to determine whether they were near an exit. But the identical corridors of the clinic had him confused and lost, unable to discern where exactly he had entered the clinic, let alone where they were. And knowing how fate worked, he figured they were probably heading in the opposite direction of any type of exit.

As they sprinted ahead, Henry caught sight of a door creak open slightly, almost inviting them in. His first instinct screamed not to go in there, but they were no safer out here with the creature that was surely back on its feet by now. "In here!" Henry grabbed Eileen's hand and pulled her through the doorway.

Taking only a second to glance around the room, Henry didn't immediately spot any immediate danger, meaning that they were safe for the time being. He slammed the door and shoved a bolt lock in place just as the creature appeared in the doorway.

A dark wood bookcase stood right next to the door, which Henry had already envisioned to be a suitable barricade. Rushing to the other side, Henry grunted as he threw his weight into trying to tip the bookcase over to block the door. Eileen, despite her injuries and disorientation, positioned herself next to Henry and together, they heaved the bookcase over. With a loud _crash_, the bookcase fell in front of the door, spilling its contents of papers and books over the linoleum floor.

Only moments after the bookcase was in place, the door buckled and splintered under the relentless pounding coming from outside. Henry and Eileen backed away from the door, both holding their breath in anticipation of the door and bookcase giving way. But the door and bookcase held fast, and eventually, the pounding stopped, leaving a shaken Henry and Eileen breathing heavily within the small room.

Eileen braced herself against the wall, trying desperately to suppress the surge of panic threatening to strangle her. "This—this is a nightmare," she rasped, her voice a mix between a whisper and sob. "It can't be happening."

Henry, still reeling from their narrow escape, slowly turned to Eileen. The disbelief was evident in her face, and Henry desperately wanted to comfort her. He wanted to tell her that everything would be alright. That they would defeat this evil and everything would be normal once again. That was what the leading hero was supposed to do, right? But if anything, Henry felt that he was nothing but an unwitting pawn in some higher machination. And there was no telling how this would end.

Willing himself to move from the door, Henry closed the gap between him and Eileen and gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "I can't say anything to make you feel better. But know that I'm going to do everything I can to get us out of whatever this is. We'll make it out of all this. Together."

For a moment, Henry felt a pang of guilt as he remembered Cynthia Velazquez. She relied on Henry too, and she ended up dead. Henry couldn't bear to let the same thing happen again. Not to anyone else. And certainly not to Eileen.

She hastily wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, pushed back strands of her dark hair, and gave Henry a nod of understanding. Eileen felt that if she tried to speak, all she would do is cry uncontrollably. Instead, she focused on suppressing her emotions, took a cleansing breath, and stood up without the help of the wall. When she was sure her voice was steady again, Eileen spoke.

"I have a terrible feeling that if we stay here much longer, we're going to end up…cursed somehow. I know it."

Though at first Henry wanted to dismiss Eileen's fears, he couldn't for sure say one way or the other. Somehow, Heather and her friends kept being dragged back into the evil known as Silent Hill. Maybe they had somehow been marked—cursed, as Eileen had put it—and it was too late for the both of them. And if that was the case, it was only a matter of time before…

Henry dragged himself out of his dark thoughts. He knew there was no time to get caught in a maelstrom of depression. If they were going to live through this, Henry needed to figure out how to piece together what he had found so far. Surely, there had to be some kind of clue there.

"Joseph," Henry suddenly said. "Do you know a guy named Joseph?"

"I—I…wait, Joseph? He lived in the apartment before you got there."

"Do you know anything about him?"

"I think he was a reporter or something. Actually, I think I read some of his articles in the paper. He was always writing on some cult in Silent Hill. But he suddenly disappeared a few months before you moved in."

A surge of reasoning flowed through Henry, and he suddenly felt like the convoluted pieces of their predicament were finally falling into place. Eileen's recollection was the exact connection he was looking for: Joseph knew something about the strange happenings in Silent Hill. He must have. And that would partially explain his disappearance. But what happened to him? Henry decided not to think about that, but to instead focus on how they could use that information to figure out how to get the hell out of this nightmare.

Eileen continued, as if the story was coming back to her once piece at a time. "Actually, right before he disappeared, he was acting strange." She shook her head absently, as she began to piece things, "I think maybe it had something to do with the story he was working on. Maybe it began to drive him crazy."

"Eileen," Henry quietly replied, "I don't think he was just investigating the cult. I think he was researching Walter Sullivan. Maybe he found out what all this is and what Walter's trying to do. But something must happened to him. Maybe he had gotten too close to the truth. Then Walter trapped him in the apartment just like I was."

Eileen shook her head, as if denying Henry's logic would somehow negate the entire situation. "Someone would have found a body. I would've heard him."

"The same way you heard me?" Henry gently retorted. "I've been trapped in my apartment for days and no one could hear me. I barely escaped Walter, but maybe Walter got to him."

Eileen didn't like the sound of that in the least. Frowning, she replied, "How do you know Walter won't get to us too? He could have killed me, Henry."

Henry turned away for a moment, feeling a flash of frustration. But after a deep breath, it fizzled away. "I can't explain why we're still alive. Maybe we're lucky."

"Luck doesn't last forever."

"We don't need it to. I got a note from Joseph. It said to go down into the deepest part of him and to look for the ultimate truth. I don't know what exactly that means, but it's got to have something to do with my apartment."

"I don't know everything that's going on. Honestly, I don't care. I just want everything to be normal again. If that means staying with you, then I will. You're the only chance I've got."

Henry should have felt reassured and chivalrous after Eileen's statement. But instead, he felt as though he only had another person that he could potentially fail. "I'm not the one you want to rely on, Eileen. I couldn't even get myself out of this mess."

"That's why we're going to do it together."

Henry turned to find Eileen's friendly eyes gazing into his, and she gave him a trusting smile. His mind suddenly flashed back to Tina Grey, who was out there somewhere as well. She had the same friendly smile, but there was much more behind it—a tender notion that Henry wanted to explore. But now wasn't the time to think like that. Right now, he had to get Eileen and himself out of Walter's grasp.

Noticing another door off to the right, nestled in the corner of the office they were in, Henry figured they could use that path into another office, which could lead into another hallway. They could easily make their way back around where they first saw the creature and get back to the hole and back to his apartment.

Henry motioned his head toward the door. "Are you ready?"

Eileen hesitated a beat but gave him a firm nod. "I'm with you, Henry."

He led the way to the door, dismissing the notion to rifle through the desk or snoop around the room. Henry pressed himself against the wall next to the door, and Eileen did the same. He listened closely for any telltale noises of someone or something being on the other side of the door but heard nothing. Taking the icy knob in his hand, Henry turned it, opening the door a crack to get a visual on the next room.

Instead, a pair of deep, black eyes stared back at him.

Henry's own eyes went wide and his breath caught as the creature's deformed hand slipped into the opening much too quickly, and in the next second, the door flew inward, knocking Henry to the floor. Eileen's shrill scream drowned out Henry's own gasping as he scrambled to get back on his feet.

The creature stood in the doorway, its predatory eyes locked on Henry and Eileen as its burly shoulders moved in rhythm with its labored breathing.

As Henry took deliberate, retreating steps while keeping Eileen behind him, his eyes darted around the room for something—anything—that he could use as a melee weapon. He hoped that there would be a random steel pipe or wood plank just lying on the floor, waiting for him to find it. But there was nothing in the room that could be easily handled as an offensive weapon, much to Henry's dismay.

_Guess, we're just going to have to outsmart the damn thing,_ he thought. But he wasn't sure that the creature was as dumb as it looked. It obviously was smart enough to circle around and find another path to continue its pursuit, so outsmarting it could prove to be a little more challenging than Henry wanted.

The creature advanced on them without warning, batting Henry and Eileen in opposite directions without much effort at all. While Eileen crashed into the opposite wall, Henry tumbled but caught himself on the metal desk perpendicular to the door. Henry spotted a pen laid on top of some medical paperwork and grabbed it before turning back towards the creature. Obviously interested in Eileen, the creature was already taking menacing steps toward her.

"Henry!" she screamed. Though she tried to get to her feet, Eileen's panic caused her to fumble and slip as the creature neared.

"Hey! You!" Henry shouted. He grabbed a thick book off the desk and hurled it at the creature. The book collided with the creature's head soundly then hit the ground with a loud _clap_. The creature immediately lost interest in Eileen and whipped its head around to face Henry, its oily hair slapping against its face and a fury flashing in its eyes.

Henry's heart thumped against his rib cage and his limbs felt heavy, but he knew that he only had a small window of opportunity to save the both of them. And that window had just opened.

With amazing speed, the creature lunged at him, and Henry braced himself for a blow. The creature's overly large hands cupped around his neck and squeezed, its nearly non-existent lips curling into a half-smile as it lifted Henry completely off the ground, continuing to tighten its grip around his neck. Henry gasped for air, which came out as short, dying croaks, as he desperately kicked the creature with his dangling legs.

Eileen had gotten to her feet, only to see that Henry was being strangled to death. _No, please no!_ she screamed internally. She felt momentarily paralyzed by the thought of Henry's death. There was no way she would be able to make it through any of this alone, so Henry couldn't die. Eileen forced her body to move, grabbing a heavy vase from a small file cabinet. Her fear turning into bravado, Eileen marched up behind the creature and with a cross between a grunt and a scream, she lifted the vase over her head and came down on the creature's back. The vase shattered on impact, and the creature's head turned slowly toward her, its dark eyes settling on Eileen once again.

As its eyes fell on her, Eileen took a step back, but not far enough as the creature swung its other arm, delivering a wild backhand to Eileen's face. She cried out as she collapsed to the ground and fought hard to keep from going unconscious.

Thankful for Eileen's distraction, Henry managed to raise his hand high in the air, and as soon as the creature turned back to him, Henry's hand came down in a swift, sharp arc. Henry winced as the pen easily sunk into the creature's right eye and thick, green liquid gushed from the wound.

The creature let out a guttural howl and almost immediately dropped Henry, as it tried desperately to grasp at the pen embedded deep within its eye socket. But its hands were too big and it only managed to shove the pen deeper, which caused the creature to yelp in pain.

Henry had barely caught his breath, but knew this was their only chance to escape. "Come on," he croaked as he grabbed Eileen's hand.

Eileen, shaken by the entire scene, allowed Henry to pull her past the thrashing creature, out into the hallway, and back down the corridor. Once again, her entire body felt numb as they rounded another corner, and the creature's cries completely died away. It was only when they had stopped in another room, did Eileen become fully aware of the aching throughout her body.

Henry gasped for breath, still feeling the rough fingers of the creature on his throat. He tried to rub the feeling away as he regained his bearings. Sure enough, they had ended up right back in the original room that Henry had entered the clinic from. A hole much like the one in his apartment took up most of the wall, but Henry could swear that strange, muffled whispers were coming from somewhere in the darkness.

Barely concerned with the hole, Eileen turned to him. "Henry," she said, her voice barely above a hoarse whisper. "I can't go on. You should go without me. I'll just slow you down."

Sounding reassuring than he felt, Henry locked eyes with Eileen. "I need you. We're going to figure out what the hell is going on and how to get out of here. But I can't do it alone. So, I need you."

Eileen managed a genuine smile, feeling slightly embarrassed. No one had ever needed her before. She was always the quiet, shy type—the one that kind of stood in the background, never in the forefront. Honestly, sometimes she felt that it wouldn't matter if she were around or not. But here, in this moment with Henry, she was needed. And though fear ate at her being, she felt a burst of bravado.

She didn't trust herself to speak, so instead, she met Henry's gaze and gave a quick nod of understanding. Henry motioned to the gaping hole in the wall, a jagged void that obviously didn't belong there. Feeling Henry's hand wrap around hers, Eileen took a deep breath as he led her into the pitch black darkness and into the unknown.

II.

_I wonder how many times we can get knocked out before we have permanent damage? _Michael McNeal briefly thought. He had lost count of the number of times they had been rendered unconscious by some heavy blow, but most recently, they had been knocked out twice within a span of probably ten minutes. However, he couldn't be entirely sure of the time since his watch wasn't working, and hadn't been working since they first entered South Ashfield. Obviously, the metaphysical aspect of Walter's and Silent Hill's power affected the normal progression of time, but to what extent?

Still fighting the haze of unconsciousness, Michael licked his lips and swallowed then climbed to his feet. He glanced around and found that the small room had taken on the grimy appearance that he thought was just limited to Silent Hill. The entire room was stained and dingy, while the wood floor had morphed into a rusty, metal grate above an infinite darkness. The single, dim bulb dangling from above flickered on every now and again, which was now the only light in the room.

The Room of Repentance—that's what Dahlia called it—but it was more like a hellish closet of torture, waiting to swallow up its next victims. Michael felt his skin crawl at the thought of being trapped in such a place for any duration of time.

Michael pulled a mini-Maglite out of his pocket, now glad he had worn his coat, which allowed him to pocket other essentials like his cell phone, painkillers, and a Swiss Army knife. He clicked it on, thankful that the brilliant beam of light sliced through the thick shadows dancing on the walls from the flickering light. He settled the light on Trey, who was slumped against the wall, still unconscious.

Kneeling at his side, Michael felt for a pulse then checked for normal breathing. Suddenly, Trey shifted and his eyes opened. "Hey," he croaked, "Let's start by not shining the flashlight in my eyes."

Quickly averting the direction of the beam, Michael apologized, "My bad. Are you okay?"

Trey moaned as a wave of dizziness hit him. For a moment, he honestly wished he was still unconscious as the smell of rotting flesh and other unsavory aromas had hit him hard, coupled with the fact that he had been unconscious several times himself. Trey could feel bruises on his ribs where Dahlia had unleashed some kind of weird, hands-off attack.

"Really? Did you really ask me that?" Trey shot as his eyes narrowed accusingly.

Michael sighed heavily, the guilt evident in his expression. "Look, I'm sorry about dropping you. Walter just appeared out of nowhere, and I just reacted. There wasn't any other way out of that one."

"And we ended up right in the hands of a crazy woman that can blow us away with a thought. Kind of the lesser of two evils, don't you think?" Trey asked with a serious tone. But then, he flashed that goofy grin of his, which let Michael know that Trey was giving him a hard time.

Michael wondered how Trey could still keep his levity despite the situation. Maybe he was forcing himself to joke and stay positive. Or maybe it was just his way of dealing with it all. Either way, despite the jokes being ill-timed or forced, Michael appreciated it.

"Doesn't look like the hag took our weapons," Trey commented as he picked up his crossbow. "Isn't that a bad move on her part?"

"Maybe," Michael hesitantly replied. "Or maybe she's sure that they won't work against her. Or she knows that we'll need them." A foreboding feeling began to creep back into his head, and Michael had to make a concerted effort to push them away. "Let's get out of here," Michael said as he went for the door and twisted the knob almost frantically. "Dammit. The knob's broken. We're trapped in here."

Trey frowned. "Not only do we manage to get knocked out like a hundred times, but it also seems like we're always freakin' trapped."

Michael wished that Trey had just been joking as usual, but his passing comment rang painfully true. Since first getting immersed in the nightmare of Silent Hill, they had been trapped in houses, theaters, and their own school, almost as if they escaped one trap just to end up in another. And unconscious bouts were speckled in there for good measure just to keep things interesting. But Michael wasn't interested. He just wanted all of this—whatever it was—to be over.

Frustrated, Michael shone the flashlight over the room again, hoping to find something that he had overlooked before. And he did.

Against the grungy opposite wall, a familiar symbol was scrawled into the wall, the crimson glistening in the light. Michael hoped that the symbol hadn't been drawn with blood, but as sections began to run and the metallic smell hit his nose, he felt nauseous. He then noticed a note tacked right in the center of the symbol.

Trey, closer to the symbol, snatched the note down and glanced through it, frowning when he was done.

"Anything important?" Michael asked as he neared Trey. He handed him the note, which Michael skimmed quickly.

_That little shit Walter Sullivan broke into the sacred library again. I caught him reading the Holy Scriptures, mumbling about his mother. I locked him in the Room of Repentance. I figure a few days in there without food will teach the brat. If not, there's always the water prison._

_Father Tom_

Trey shook his head with disgust. His first interaction with the fanatic priest included hitting him over the head with a wooden plank after he had attacked Michael. The priest was some kind of avatar for Samael's coming, but luckily, they didn't fall into whatever strange plan he had for them.

"Looks like Father Tom was into torturing kids," Trey said as he handed the note to Michael. "He's crazier and sicker than I gave him credit for." Rubbing the back of his head, Trey continued, "But it doesn't make sense—what does this have to do with Silent Hill?"

"Everything," Michael said without any hint of doubt. He folded the note quickly and slipped it into his coat pocket. Noting Trey's puzzled expression, Michael explained, "Let's just go through what we know up to this point. So, there's a weird cult in Silent Hill that basically praises a deity named Samael. Their whole goal is to resurrect their god to create some hellish world." Michael paused, "Heather—Alessa back then—was somehow chosen to rebirth Samael. But she used her power to defeat the rebirth and save herself."

"Let's not forget about Harry Mason," Trey added.

"Right. I don't know how James Sunderland fits in, but his situation is somehow related too. Right after that, a teenaged Heather is inadvertently drawn back to Silent Hill, because she still has the power to fully resurrect Samael."

"A fact that the cult hasn't forgotten."

"Right. But while they searched for Heather, I think they were using children as potential vessels for Samael."

"And that's how Christine was drawn into it. She and her sister were primed to be the next vessel."

Michael nodded. "And the rest of the children could have been sacrifices. Or maybe the cult simply brainwashed them into being members, and those that didn't comply went to this water prison that Father Tom mentions in the note."

"So it's safe to say that Walter was one of those children," Trey concluded.

"Which would mean that somehow, we're in the orphanage." Never did Michael think that being in an orphanage would be so ominous, but his feeling of foreboding was now a throbbing apprehension. He knew that they had only gone deeper into the twisted world of Walter Sullivan, and the worst was yet to come.

"But what is Walter's ultimate goal? I mean, why all of this?"

"I don't know. All I know is that this power is beyond his control. He's messing with something that he doesn't understand. And so is Dahlia Gillespie."

Trey noticed Michael's darkening expression. "Hey, are you okay?"

"I—I don't know. I've tried not to think about it, but I can still feel the darkness tugging away at me. I think there's some residual effect left from before. It's almost as if I'm doing the same thing as Walter—messing with a power that I don't understand."

Trey nodded in understanding. "Maybe it will come in handy. It did last time. And it may help us find Christine in the process. So let's just figure out why the hell we ended up in the orphanage so we can get out of here. And back to Heather and Henry."

Michael's head whipped toward the door as he heard the sound of small footsteps. A small child's giggle sounded as the footsteps stopped right outside of the door. Michael stepped towards the door and tried the knob again, but it still jiggled loosely in his hand. "Hey, is someone out there? Open this door!"

A small boy's giggle sounded again as a slip of red paper was shoved underneath the door. Then the boy took off, the footsteps disappearing in the opposite direction.

"Hey! Wait!" Michael pounded on the door but soon gave up and turned his attention to the red piece of paper next to his foot. Unwrapping it, Michael scanned the contents.

_I was 'upposed ta be repennin' ta the lord. But I sawded Mary thru the wall. She was sad too 'cause she didn't have her mommy. When I get mine back, I'll share wif her._

Michael turned to Trey. "This note…I think it was written by Walter. Given Father Tom's note, it makes sense. But he mentions something in here abut getting back his mother. I don't know what exactly that means, but it validates that he probably was in this orphanage."

"So the guy has maternal issues?"

"Yeah. And somehow, I think his issues became our problems. There must be a similar room on the other side of this one," Michael said as he neared the crimson symbol on the wall. He noticed a small hole, originally hidden by Father Tom's note. He pushed on the wall, surprised at how thin and weak it felt. "Stand back," Michael warned as he stood to the side of the symbol, turned his face away, and swung the butt of the gun at the center of the symbol. The wall cracked under the blow and after a few more hits gave way. Michael used his fingers to pry away the loose chunks of wall, which created a hole big enough for them to slide through.

"So, I'll follow you through," Trey said.

"Oh, you don't want to go first?"

"You're the leader and you're the one with the gun, right? I'm just the sidekick. Sidekicks never go first."

Michael shook his head and rolled his eyes. With a little help from Trey, Michael slid through the hole and into an identical room. He panned the room with the flashlight, noting a small corpse huddled in the corner, three pieces of paper lying next to the corpse, and another door.

"If you're not screaming by now," Trey said as he landed on his feet behind Michael, "I figure it's safe to enter."

Ignoring Trey's off comment, Michael kept his eyes averted from the corpse, afraid of validating that it was a dead child—Mary as the note referred to her. He snatched up the three pieces of paper, noting the fact that a crayon was used to draw the floor plan of the orphanage. Studying it, Michael saw that they were in the basement and that there were two more rooms just like this across the hall from them.

In a rather large room in the basement, _The Bad Place_ was scribbled in black, like the artist had pressed the crayon down as hard as possible, leaving behind a thick font.

"Any chance we can avoid the Bad Place?" Trey asked as he studied the map over Michael's shoulder.

"Trust me, it's the last place I want to go," Michael folded the maps and slipped them in his pockets for future reference. Checking his gun once again and giving a nod to Trey, Michael grabbed the icy doorknob, turned it, and quietly stepped out into the hallway. As his cell phone began to lightly vibrate in his pocket, Michael knew that they weren't in the house alone.

Notes:

New-Born Writer: Glad you liked Silent Hill: Lost Souls. It took me a LONG time to write this chapter. But trust me, the others are coming to me a bit faster these days. Let me know what you think.

Richard B. Sampson Jr.: Rich, glad you're keeping up with the story. And that you're getting a little more familiar with the Silent Hill mythos. Trust me, we'll be seeing more of Dahlia as the story goes on.

Kyliemason: So did you finish up your fanart? You'll have to let me know. Glad you like Trey and Christine, because I really enjoy writing them as much as you enjoy reading about them.

Jammer69er: Okay, so don't chastise me again for taking a SUPER-LONG time to update. 

The monster known as writer's block has takne a break from haunting me, so I should be able to crank out a few more chapters.

Rodarian: Glad to see you back with the story. I've actually spotted a few grammatical mistakes in every chapter, but I went back, corrected them, and reposted. Thanks for pointing it out. A second or third pair of eyes definitely helps. Hope your dissertation went well (granted it was months ago!).

Caffeine Productions: I have a knack for making creepy things happen. Or at least writing about them.  Thanks for the correction on the number. I really don't know how I messed that up, especially because I looked it up right beforehand. Hope your still around and keeping up with the story!


	13. Coming Together

I.

The rustic, worn floorboards creaked under Michael McNeal's every step. Though he crept forward as softly as he could, there was no way he, or his partner, Trey Harrison, would ever surprise whatever evil monsters lurked within the confines of the orphanage. To include Walter Sullivan.

Only minutes ago, Michael and Trey found themselves in the Wish House Orphanage, the supposed temporary home of Walter Sullivan, while still a child. Already, they had encountered Dahlia Gillespie, an old woman with strange powers, mother to Heather Mason. And Alessa Gillespie. After escaping the Room of Repentance within the orphanage, the duo headed out into the silent, darkened hallways in search of something that would help them stop Walter and return them to the normal world with their friends.

As they investigated the lengthy corridor, Michael was sure that he smelled something burnt in the air, thick and nauseating. He wasn't sure that he really wanted to know where the odor came from, although they seemed to be walking away from it.

Michael's palms moistened and his heartbeat shot up in anticipation of encountering something lurking in the dark recesses of the corridor. Already, they had confronted many horrible, twisted monsters created from the mysterious powers of Silent Hill. Luckily, they fended them off but not without a few scratches and abrasions as reminders of their battles. But as they drew closer to Walter, the obstacles had only become more perilous; the monsters more ferocious and ruthless. If he didn't stay alert and ready for anything, it would definitely be game over for both him and Trey.

Keeping his flashlight pointed forward, Michael tried to cover every dark corner and nook encased in even darker shadows to reassure himself that nothing was there. But as soon as the light moved away, it seemed that the shadows would come to life, birthing some monstrosity that was ready to pounce on them as soon as they let their guard down. Which is why Michael kept his gun pointed ahead as well.

Panning the hallway, the beam from the small flashlight splayed across closed doors lining either wall.

"Shouldn't we be checking out some of these rooms?" Trey asked in a subdued whisper.

Michael hesitated, his ears perked up to pick up anything that may have responded to Trey's voice. Scanning the hallway again, Michael took extra care to study the path ahead, trusting that Trey was keeping the rear clear.

Satisfied that nothing was there—or at least nothing that wanted to immediately hurt them—Michael replied, "Let's make sure we clear the hallway. Besides, you remember from last time, don't you? Most of these doors probably have broken knobs or something. We'd probably be wasting our time trying all of them."

Just to prove his point, Michael reached out and jiggled the rusted knob of one of the closed doors. The knob felt much too loose in his hand and wouldn't turn in either direction. "See, the doorknob's broken."

"What's in there?" Trey motioned toward a slightly ajar door.

Michael pointed his gun towards the door. "Cracked doors like that are never a good sign. You got me covered?"

"Of course!"

Michael pushed the door open with his boot, keeping his gun and flashlight steady. He took a few steps in, then scanned the room. A messy desk, tall bookcases, a worn couch, turned over chairs, and a dying plant took up the space in the office and left no room for anything to hide. At least, nothing that he could immediately see.

"Must be an admin office," he mentioned as he lowered his gun.

Trey stepped around him, his eyes immediately falling on a newspaper on the desk. A rather lengthy article was circled and Trey was immediately drawn to it. "Look at this. It's an article out of the newspaper." Trey motioned for Michael to bring the flashlight over. Once the light was positioned, they both read through the article.

_ Teaching Despair: Wish House_

_ The Wish House is a quaint orphanage nestled on the outskirts of Silent Hill. But behind its false image is a hideous place where children are kidnapped, brainwashed, and murdered._

_ Wish House is managed by the Silent Hill Smile Support Society, a charity organization sometimes called '4S'. They have become local heroes that have garnered much of the respect of the surrounding area because of their seemingly charitable acts of "taking in poor children without homes and raising them with hope," their well- circulated motto._

_ But at its heart it is a heathen organization that teaches its own warped dogma in lieu of traditional religious values._

_ Mr. Smith (temp), who lives near Wish House, had this to say, "Sometimes at night I can hear their weird prayers and the sounds of [children] crying. I went there to complain one time, but they ran me right out. Since then it hasn't changed a bit."_

_ In fact, this reporter was refused admission when he attempted to take photographs within Wish House. What exactly do the folks at Wish House have to hide?_

_ During my investigations, I discovered a suspicious, concrete tower, which appears to be part of their facilities. Unfortunately, no one was willing to divulge the use of that facility or anything about the interior. But it seems unlikely that it has nothing to do with the business of raising orphans. It may in fact be a prison or a secret place of worship._

_ The cult religion behind 4S that operates Wish House is known by the locals simply as The Order. They represent a base religion that is deeply interwoven with Silent Hill's history. Its members fervently believe that they are among an elite chosen population, meant to carry out the work of their 'lord.' However, their actions have proven to be dark and dangerous, no doubt a reflection of the members' hearts. This begs the question, what exactly are they teaching those children behind the locked doors of Wish House?_

_ I intend to continue this weekly article in hopes of exposing the true nature of Wish House, 4S, and The Order. In order to save the children, this is a story that must be told. Telling the whole truth and showing the true path is our most important duty as reporters._

_ Joseph Schreiber_

As he finished the article, Trey's frown deepened. "Looks like this Joseph guy was onto something. He knew that this place was bad news."

"Joseph Schreiber," Michael repeated, sure he had heard the name before. Then it hit him, "Isn't that the guy that owned the Henry's apartment?"

Trey shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe. Sounds kind of familiar."

Michael went into his usual thinking mode, putting the clues together to formulate their way-ahead. It had become so commonplace, that Trey had stopped commenting about it, and simply let Michael talk.

"So," Michael began, "he was checking out this orphanage as well. If that's the case then Joseph would have had to know about Walter Sullivan. And Fred Sunderland said something about an incident in the apartment that Henry lives in. Maybe Joseph found something out that he wasn't supposed to. And maybe Walter found him as well..." Michael trailed off, feeling awkward by thinking Joseph had been killed by Walter. But that had to be the case, since Walter seemed to want anyone out of the way that could stop him. But why had they survived for this long?

"Yeah, I think—" Trey replied. Just as he was about to continue, a slightly open drawer caught his eye. Trey kneeled down and pulled it open, discovering a row of old manila folders filling the entire drawer. "Dude, looks like we've got something else here."

Michael stepped around the desk, his eyes falling to the potential clues. "Case files?"

"Yeah. A bunch of them. These could be files on all the kids here. And if so, it looks like Walter definitely wasn't here by himself."

"He wouldn't have been here by himself. It's an orphanage," Michael retaliated, taking an opportunity to take a joking jab at Trey.

"Just look at the files. Ass."

Michael leaned over Trey's shoulder, silently mouthing the names. Then he commented, "They're all in alphabetical order, except two. Claudia Wolf and Vincent Daniels. They're reversed, which means that someone's gone through these two files recently."

Trey shrugged, "Maybe it was Joseph."

"Maybe. But didn't Douglas say that he was a private investigator? He may have found this orphanage as well. Especially if he was looking for information on Heather. These files probably gave him exactly what he was looking for," as he finished, Michael reached for the files and proceeded skim through them, flipping the loose pages carefully as not to drop them. "Looks like someone's still been collecting information on these people. There's info dated from just last month. Are you finding anything useful in yours?"

Trey continued to read through the files he had, skimming the first page of each before flipping through the multitude of papers stuffed within. He found himself pausing every so often, reading through psychological evaluations, medical notes and prescriptions, and other miscellaneous forms. Shaking his head, Trey replied, "Basically, Claudia's father abused her, and when he was committed to the hospital, Claudia was taken in by the orphanage. Vincent's parents were mysteriously killed in an accident, which is how he got here."

Michael plucked Walter Sullivan's file from Trey's hands and opened it to the first page. Reading carefully, Michael paused for a moment then his eyebrows peaked curiously. "Now this is interesting. It looks like Walter was abandoned in that apartment building, room three-oh-two."

"That's Henry's apartment."

"And Joseph's apartment. That explains the connection. And look, there's a file on Alessa Gillespie."

"Heather," Trey mentioned quietly. It seemed that everything was interwoven into a complicated, inescapable web of fate. Their entire experience with Silent Hill seemed to be nothing but a maniacal machination, originated by one individual or another. For a moment, hopelessness set in—when the hell was this all going to end? Would it ever end? And would they ever be able to live normally again?

"Hey, are you okay?" Michael asked, noticing Trey's unusually pensive expression.

"Yeah. Sorry. Aren't we supposed to be looking for the bad place in the basement?"

Michael pulled the map out of his jacket pocket and tried unsuccessfully to spread it out flatly on the desk. "So, we're here," Michael pointed to an eleven by eleven room in the middle of the rather long hallway, "so there should be a staircase through the kitchen down to the basement."

Trey rolled his eyes. "There's probably some stupid basement key that we're going to have to hunt around for up on the second floor. You know that's how this crap always goes down."

Michael couldn't disagree with him. Every time they happened upon a locked door, they always had to launch a full-scale hunt to find the appropriate key or keys. Usually, there was some cryptic puzzle or clue, left by some unknown benevolent guide or a nefarious puppetmaster, to somewhat steer them to the needed key.

"We shouldn't stay in this place any longer than we have to," Michael stated resolutely. "We'll try the door first, and if we have to look for a key, we'll do it together."

The soft wailing of a small child echoed through the house, coming from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. The asexual, small voice quivered, hitting highs and lows before cutting out every now and again. Though soft, genuine pain and anguish existed in every note, chilling Michael and Trey to the bone.

"What—what was that?" Trey rhetorically asked as he slowly stood. He fell behind Michael as they moved back to the doorway. Trey readied his crossbow and covered Michael as he peeked around the corner. When Michael motioned to him, Trey stepped out in the hallway. But almost immediately both of them froze.

At the end of the hallway, an indistinguishable form now blocked the way. Shrouded in shadows, neither one of them could immediately make out any features that remotely resembled a person.

Michael lifted his flashlight slowly, aiming the beam at the floor and moving it towards the figure. His cell phone was vibrating hard, and Michael felt a sense of dread as the light fell on the lower extremities of the figure.

At first, Michael had trouble matching what he saw with what it actually was. Where a foot or feet should have been, there was an oversized hand, palm down, resting on the floor. No legs. No other arm. Just one hand. Michael kept raising the light, and it continued up the pale, bony arm until the light fell on what could have been a dingy brown cloak. Then Michael saw it—the other arm. The large hand pointed at them. Unmoving. Accusing.

The soft, child-like wails still echoing, Michael shone the light on the figure's upper body and found conjoined heads of what looked like newborn babies. Their eyes were still closed, but their mouths moved out of synch with the wails they heard. Michael took a step back, unsure of what to make of this new thing they saw. It seemed passive, since it hadn't charged them. And Michael thought that maybe they could simply go another way.

But when the creature put down the pointing hand and began to advance on them, Michael found that he was horribly wrong about the creature's temperament. Before he even realized it, the thing was upon the both of them and with otherworldly strength, blasted Michael into the air with a mere backhand. The impact knocked the wind out of him, and when he hit the floor, pain shot through his entire body.

"I've got it!" Trey exclaimed as he aimed and shot. But the creature dipped low at the last second and the arrows sunk into the wall, completely missing their target. "Damn!" he aimed low, but realized too late that the creature had closed the gap between them. Its icy fingers wrapped around his leg then yanked; the unexpected force threw Trey to the floor, and his crossbow clattered much too far away for him to immediately reach.

Scrambling, Trey attempted to distance himself from the creature, but his arms and legs couldn't move fast enough. The creature towered over him, and he caught a nauseating whiff of its stench.

"Mike! A little help here!"

In response, a bullet grazed the creature's arm, and it recoiled with a painful yelp. Angered and with a high pitched scream, the creature raised its massive fist, held it in the air momentarily, then brought it down, intending to smash its target. Trey rolled to the side at the last possible second, but still felt the force of the impact reverberate through the floor.

Two more bullets whizzed through the air—both found their intended target. The middle of the forehead on both adjoined heads. The creature collapsed heavily to the floor, its life extinguished quite abruptly.

"Holy hell! These monsters are crazy!" Trey exclaimed as he climbed to his feet. "And how the hell did you get to be such a good shot?"

"Practice," Michael coolly replied as he loaded more bullets. But Michael knew that it wasn't practice. Since arriving here, Michael could feel the lingering power of Silent Hill still within him. Though not as forceful as before, the power did give him a slight edge, but it came in unpredictable spurts.

He dusted off his coat, stored his gun, then stood, giving one last, pitiful look at the creature on the ground. He didn't want to imagine the origin of the creature, but he knew it was tied to the fate of some child. Or children. Judging from what they had already seen, the orphans here were at the mercy of The Order, as Joseph described. But they had no mercy, not even for children.

Pushing it out of his mind for the time being, Michael turned to Trey, who had just collected his weapon from down the hallway. "You ready?" Michael asked him.

"Yeah."

Still aching from the skirmish, Michael continued to lead the way down the hallway, then weaved through a dayroom and one more small hallway before finding the kitchen.

He covered his mouth and nose as the odor of old food and something else reached him. Michael held back a gag as he spied maggots and other insects crawling through moldy, rancid food and across broken dishes and cookware. On the far side of the kitchen, Michael spotted another door, wooden and heavy-looking.

Michael approached the basement door carefully and tried the handle, not surprised that it didn't turn. "I think it's locked."

"This place is disgusting. It must've been abandoned for years."

On the counter, Michael noticed a red slip of paper. Another note. He snatched it up, hoping it gave them some kind of lead on where to find the key. But instead, Michael found that the cryptic memo had more to do with something much more important than the key.

_The dwelling possesses two. But those that seek the crux of evil can find the third. Mighty iron or steel smite the barricade and reunite the puzzle, complete._

As Michael and Trey finished scanning it, Trey frowned in disapproval. He said, "So, obviously, crazed killers don't take English class very seriously. Mr. Gibbons would probably keel over if he saw all the grammatical mistakes in this."

Shaking his head, Michael read the three sentences one more time, then had a moment of clarity. "Regardless, this actually makes sense with everything we know up to this point."

"It always makes sense to you. Geez. Aren't you just the regular, weird puzzle-solver guy?"

"Whatever. I noticed it when we were trapped in the other apartment and when we were in Richard's apartment. There are different floor plans for the apartments here. Which means that one of them that was a three bedroom—"

"Is a two bedroom with some kind of hidden room. I'm picking up what you're putting down. But which apartment should we be looking for?"

"My first guess would be Henry's. I think it's been the key all along. And that's where we'll finally figure it all out."

"But in the meantime, we've got to get into the basement. So I take it we're going upstairs?"

"Yeah," Michael glanced at the ceiling, wishing that he knew what they were going to run into up there. One of the worst things about this whole situation was the continuous looming of the unknown. And honestly, Michael hated that.

"This isn't going to be easy, you know?"

Michael replied, "No one ever said it would be. Let's go."

However, Michael and Trey froze briefly as they heard clumsy bustling from behind them. Without hesitation, they both simultaneously whipped around with their weapons aimed toward whatever new threat Walter had thrown at them.

II.

Henry wasn't sure if it was the ominous, starless sky, the odd shadows dancing around them or the old house that stood before them, but a bad feeling started to grow in the pit of his stomach. They had been transported to the orphanage from the prison, much to his and Eileen's surprise. And if his hunch was correct, they were in Silent Hill.

Granted, it wasn't Henry's first time in the small town. In fact, his first trip there, he took quite a few photographs that were published in local periodicals and displayed in the art museum. Back then, he thought it was a quaint little town with a tranquil atmosphere and close-knit population.

But soon after Henry's trip, he noticed articles regarding strange circumstances and odd occurrences in Silent Hill. Disappearances, murders, and monsters were at the root of most of the sensationalized stories, but a journalist, Joseph Schreiber, began a series of articles detailing an underground cult, which seemed to be at the root of it all.

Before all this, Henry scoffed at the claims, presuming it was nothing but tabloid headlines. But now, Henry knew Joseph had stumbled onto something quite truthful dwelling in the very core of Silent Hill. And that something was unspeakable evil.

"This...this is the orphanage," Henry mentioned as they stood peering at the dilapidated house. The dark, worn planks on the outside and the hanging shutters, along with the swaying trees and dark sky, made the entire scene uninviting. He had been here once before, and that's when he met Jasper Gein. But in a horrible display, Jasper burned to death right in front of Henry and being back here reminded him of the macabre scene.

Eileen rubbed her arms to warm herself as she glanced around nervously. "I don't like being here. It gives me the creeps."

"We were led here for a reason," Henry quietly replied. He wished that he could tell Eileen more than that to ease her trepidation, but admittedly, he was just as nervous as she was. Why had they been led here? What was it that he didn't find the first time? And was another monster waiting for them? Or maybe another victim?

"But what if there's another monster?" Eileen quizzed as if she had read Henry's mind. "Or something worse?"

Henry took another look at the orphanage. Judging from everything that had happened up to this point, he felt sure that there was something dangerous in there. The howling wind suddenly fell silent, leaving an ominous blanket of stillness.

"You don't have to go," he said, though it really didn't strike him as a good idea to leave her alone out here either. But he didn't think Eileen would be able to handle another scene like he had previously experienced with Jasper.

He hated that Eileen had been dragged into this. Dealing with supernatural circumstances and perilous situations wasn't quite his thing, but Eileen definitely wasn't up for anything even remotely tense. The both of them were stuck in something neither one of them fully understood.

At this point, Henry still couldn't piece together why either of them had been targeted by Walter Sullivan, but somehow, they were instruments in his unknown plan. But Henry wondered would they simply end up like Cynthia, Richard, or Andrew? Or was there a fate worse than death waiting for them?

Eileen closed the gap between them. "I'm not staying out here by myself."

Henry nodded in agreement. "We'll go in together then and figure this all out before it's too late." He tried to sound confident, but after their near-miss with the creature in the clinic, Henry wasn't too sure how they would fare against another surprise attack. Neither one of them had a weapon, so all they could rely on right now was their agility and speed. And luck. But that would only take them so far...

He made his way towards the house, Eileen close at his side. As they neared, Henry swore he heard the sound of children crying. It was soft, almost inaudible, but Henry was sure of what he heard. And noting Eileen's tense expression, she must have heard it too.

Reaching the front door, Henry was ready to throw it open, but Eileen's sudden departure stopped him. He quickly jiggled the handle, but it didn't budge. _I opened this earlier with the key. Who locked it?_ he wondered. Sighing, he trotted up to the edge of the porch where Eileen stood.

"Did you find something?"

"There's a note on the swing."

Before Henry could object, Eileen hopped down the side of the porch, and crossed the damp, soft grass to the swings. A gentle breeze pushed the swings just enough so their rusted chains creaked softly, but the breeze didn't catch the note. Eileen plucked the paper from the seat, and read though it quickly, paling as she neared the end.

_I went down there...to the Bad Place. I didn't want to go, but Father Tom made me. He kept smiling as he dragged me down the stairs. But I'll show him! I'll take the key and hide it so he'll never find it._

She turned to Henry, who had joined her by the swings. "Henry, what on earth went on here?"

Henry didn't want to answer. He didn't want to know. Between the notes and his previous trip to the water tower, he tried to block out the horrors that those children were put through. But no matter how he forgot, something new would always remind him of their misfortune.

"I—I don't know," he quietly answered, avoiding speaking or thinking about the truth.

"We should find this key. Maybe it's why we were led here."

Henry figured Eileen had a point, but the note didn't say anything about where the key was hidden. So where would they even begin?

"Maybe it's in a hole somewhere," Eileen offered as she scanned the surrounding area for a hole or any other obvious hiding place.

Henry noticed a large oak tree not too far from where they were standing. Being a significant landmark, he figured that would be a good place to start. He crossed the yard, but stopped abruptly when he saw writing scrawled into a lower part of the oak's trunk.

_There was a hole here. It's gone._

Something about the note etched into the large oak felt wrong and creepy to Henry, though there really wasn't anything about it that was overtly threatening or ominous. Still, who put that note there? Why was the hole gone? Did someone know that they were going to be searching for the hole?

"So much for that idea," Eileen said, defeated. Her eyes darted around the grounds, as she tried to imagine where a child would have hidden a key. Just as she was about to give up, she spotted a glimpse of a sunken spot void of any grass. "Henry, over there," Eileen said as she headed in that direction.

Her deflated confidence bolstered as they neared the spot, which was actually some sort of small metal grate set in concrete. She kneeled down, and her heart leapt for joy as a rustic red among the dirt caught her eye. "It's the key. It's down there."

Henry kneeled next to her and after eying the key, tried to move the grate, but it held fast. "I see the key down there," Henry relayed as he peered through the tightly spaced bars, "but this grate is rusted in place."

Already thinking of a solution, Eileen leaned over Henry to get a look for herself. The drainage hole was only about two feet down. And though the bars would barely let a finger through, something sturdy and slim could be easily maneuvered to fish out the key. Eileen stood for a moment and surveyed the grounds again.

The swing wouldn't work since the chains weren't rigid enough, and the wooden seat would be difficult to break apart. Plus, it wasn't long enough to reach. There wasn't anything on the porch that would assist, but then Eileen gazed upward and realized their next course of action.

"Hey, if you give me a boost, I could grab a limb from the tree. We should be able to snake it through the bars and pull the key out."

Standing, Henry glanced at the tree. The limb Eileen pointed to wasn't that high, and if he could balance her on his shoulders, she should be able to pull it down. He gave a nod of approval, glad that Eileen had substituted her fear for resourcefulness.

"Okay, let's try it."

Eileen didn't seem like she would be too difficult to lift, even though Henry considered himself of about average strength. Sure, he ran a few miles every now and again, and even attempt a weight workout at the gym, but these was really no need for him to be incredibly strong to be a photographer. In fact, this is probably the first time Henry could remember that he had to rely on his physical prowess, which to him wasn't all that impressive.

Still, if Eileen had an idea and faith in Henry, he didn't intend on disappointing her. Henry squatted down, allowing Eileen to climb onto his shoulders, and then Henry stood unsteadily, lifting Eileen as well. Lifting someone was a bit more difficult than he initially though, and he wobbled quite a bit, nearly throwing Eileen to the ground. Luckily, they both recovered their balance.

"Hey, be careful. I'm not that heavy!" Eileen sharply exclaimed.

"Are you sure about that?"

In response, Eileen pressed down with her heel, giving Henry's shoulder a nice little jolt of pain.

"Ow! Okay, I'm just kidding. But don't wiggle around too much."

"Just a little to the right," Eileen directed.

Henry stepped, using something halfway between a waddle and shuffle, hoping that he didn't lose his balance again. When he heard the sound of a limb breaking, and Eileen's sigh of relief, Henry kneeled a bit to allow Eileen to hop down. They quickly headed back to the grate, and, once there, Eileen handed the limb to Henry, claiming to have quite the unsteady hand.

Taking the limb, Henry slipped it between the bars and started a tedious game of fishing for the key. His first few attempts were horribly unsuccessful, and he could tell Eileen was getting impatient.

"Be careful. Just a little to the left. Oh, don't miss it!" Eileen said over his shoulder.

Henry almost laughed. "Calm down. I've almost got it. There!" Henry retracted the limb slowly and at the end was a rusty, dirtied key. Eileen grabbed the key from the limb, and smiled. But before she could comment, the sharp clap of gunfire draw their immediate attention.

Eileen gasped as her heart jumped. "What was that?"

"Gunfire," Henry said as he stood. "Come on. Someone's in trouble!" In seconds, he urgently sprinted toward the house, followed closely by Eileen. "The back door," he said as he rounded the porch, passing the front door. Once in the back, Henry slowed to a stop and caught his breath.

"Do you think it's someone dangerous?" Eileen paused, gently grabbing Henry's wrist to make him pause.

"I hope not. But maybe they can help us figure out what's going on."

Henry waited only a few more seconds before opening the door cautiously, after a hesitant Eileen let go of him. But the door made much more noise than he thought it would have, and he cursed as he caught sight of two figures. But he couldn't immediately tell whether they were friend or foe. Before he could say anything or make another move, both figures whipped around, almost in synch, and Henry saw that two weapons were pointed in their direction—a gun and a crossbow.

And he was quite sure that they would fire in the next second.


End file.
